


Basic Knowledge

by frenchiedoodle



Category: Baldi's Basics (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Abuse of Authority, Beating, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Fear, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury Recovery, Multi, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Touching, Pain, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Reader-Insert, Sadism, School, Teacher-Student Relationship, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, reader has anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-06-17 00:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15449001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchiedoodle/pseuds/frenchiedoodle
Summary: You just arrived. You were new, untouched. You didn't know what was going on between those walls.And then you learned. You learned basic knowledge:Surviving.(IMPORTANT: Read the Notes!)





	1. Intimidation

**Author's Note:**

> //WARNING!\\\  
> This story is NOT for the faint of heart! It will feature potentially heavy triggers, such as underage physical abuse, psychological distress, violence, swearing, and suggestive themes.   
> If you are too sensitive to this kind of content, if you are young, or was exposed/affected by violence, especially as a child, I suggest you to NOT READ THIS STORY. 
> 
> You've been warned. If you decided to read the story anyway, enjoy!

Moving out...

 

You felt like it was a huge step in your life. It probably was, you wondered. If not, you wouldn't have felt this churning in your stomach for so long; when you arranged you room, when you explored the new house with your parents... And during your first day in your new school. 

 

Your parents not being very wealthy, your house was in a pretty... Moderate condition. The school was far away, and wasn't praised to form future elites. But you had worse around this town, and the only thing you heard the most was that the staff there was very, sometimes absurdly strict.   
Well... At least there was a competent staff working there, and it was plenty to let you learn and work peacefully. 

 

You remember this school. God... The first day you stepped in it, you felt a tight, suffocating knot forming in your throat. You were _very_ anxious...  
You also remember how the corridors were flooded by a spaced out group of random pupils of all ages. There were bullies, trying to steal some soda from a boy, the janitor, working in a corner... Even a little girl in red, jumping around with her jumping rope, asking to random pupils to play with her.

 

You were so anxious. And moreover, you were not prepared for the year to come. Nothing could have prepared you to that, actually.  
Everything  began when you had your first lesson of Math. Mind you, you were absolutely worthless when it came to Mathematics, Arithmetics and Geometry. You had difficulties, and never really succeeded in having fairly good grade. Despite all your hard work, you just had mildly acceptable results, to be honest.   
Nobody knew why. You were far from dumb, considerinng your grades in other subjects, and you were surprisingly good with logic! But with math... Something was blocking you, and nobody ever knew what it was. With time, you ended up accepting your incompetence in mathematics, finally giving up on the reason of your incapacity, and focusing on having the best grade you could have, even if it wasn't very high. 

 

You remember, how you were sitting in the back of the room, careful to be discreet as you were already noticed enough for your unfamiliar face, when you realised that compared to some other courses, your classmates were especially careful to sit straight on their seats and not make a sound.   
That should have been your first cue. Then, the door groaned when a particularly strange man came in. The first thing you noticed was that he was tall.  _Intimidatingly tall_.   
His impressive height already got you to widen your eyes in surprise, as you were expecting a more 'conforming' type of teacher, just like in any other course. Coupled with a lean, lanky silhouette, he almost looked like... A spider. His movments were swift and precise, his long limbs giving him a sort or eerie grace no one could replicate. He wore a vivid green sweater, and just a pair of jeans, a pretty simple assemble that disappeared under the desk when he sat down, taking out a wooden ruler from his bag and lining it perfectly with the wood of his desk.  
And you remember the look he gave you when he sat to his desk, crossing your eyes. It was right before he started a joyful, motivating speech about the value of education and the fun you could have while learning. But, right before that... 

 

You could have sworn an unmistakable glint of sinister satisfaction passed through his glare. 

 

Later that week, you learned that this teacher was not liked by his pupils, despite his first, friendly impression. Apparently, he had quite a long last name, but people rarily bothered and just called him 'Baldi'. Because he was bald, safe for maybe a thin bang or something...  
Then, you learned  _why_ he wasn't liked by his pupils. It was the end of the week, and the man had called one of your male classmates to the chalkboard, so he could solve a problem. And he happened to have one answer wrong. At first, when you saw your classmates become slightly agitated, you didn't understand. What was going on? Having bad answers isn't bad, nor forbidden... It happens, that's why we have to go to school in the first place! 

 

Then, your glare came across something new. Baldi was intently looking at the young boy, and his light ghost of a smile turned excruciatingly slowly into a deep frown. He was not happy. And still you didn't understand. What was the deal here?   
Still slow enough to give the illusion that calm anger washed over the man, he turned around towards his desk, and just grabbed his precious, yellow ruler.   
The boy in front of him started shaking, biting his lips, almost like he was refraining to cry, his throat strained. Woah, there... This seemed way too serious for a simple algebra mistake... Inevitably, when the boy let out an inaudible whimper through his tight throat and closed mouth. The teacher remained absolutely stoic, his face void of emotions, exept for his deceived frown. 

 

"Matthew. Open your hands.", he suddenly, and yet very serenely said. 

 

That was unexpected. The cold voice he had. During a whole week, you had been greeted and teached mathematics by a friendly man, which always praised an encouraged in a deep, warm voice. He always was so calm and reassuring with you all, you had begun to think the whispers on the strict staff of this school were only fake rumors. But now... His voice was anything but reassuring. It was cold as ice, devoid of any type of sympathy, of compassion. It has lost it's spark the moment that cursed frown appeared.   
The boy, seemingly paralysed by his own fear, didn't make a single move. The professor arched an eyebrow, apparently silently warning his student, before repeating in a more threatening voice, an inflexion indicating he wanted him to snap out of his reverie: 

 

"Matthew..."

 

That was when the class got _really_ agitated, and voices started to raise up here and there: 

 

"Stop it! He can't help it!"

 

"Don't you see you scare him...?!"

 

"Why the principle isn't doing anything?!"

 

"It's been two years now..."

 

"We're going to report you-..."

 

 __ __ _**CRASH!** _

 

You felt like you were the only one who saw how his frown deepened from deceit to unleashed wrath when the voices of the students arose, as he grabbed his ruler harder. The last student, menacing to report the teacher, got unfortunately cut short by the booming, deafening crash of the ruler flat on the desk. The voice of the teacher immediatley ensued, giving no time to the now mute student to answer back: 

 

" **SHUT UP!** SILENCE! ALL OF YOU! The only thing you're all doing for you 'friend' is worsening his fate! If I hear the single, most inaudible breath of protest from ANY OF YOU, I'm locking the door, and personally taking care of EACH and EVERYONE of you!   
**AM I CLEAR...?** "

 

The silence in the room spoke by itself.

 

"...Good.", your teacher's voice rose again, cold as before. "Now, Matthew. I won't repeat myself."

 

Despite the sobbing mess this boy had become, your teacher's unmoving cruelty remained intact. The pupil slowly rose his hands, opening them and pushing them forward a bit, before firmly closing his eyes and turning his head away. The ghost of a half smile passed across the man's feature, before he rose his heavy ruler high above his head, taking enough speed so that the full wooden instrument comes crashing into the fleshy fingers of that boy. 

 

You swore you've heard a sickly loud cracking sound, barely drowned in the sound the powerful blow, combined with the piercing shriek the boy let out right before he started to sob furiously.   
Suddenly, the bell rang, and the teacher neared the door, his voice surpassing the crying in the room: 

 

"I hope this serves as a lesson, so one of you is not the next to take double the pain for the cluelessness of others. Have a nice day."

 

With that, you felt again like the only one who saw how he turned the key in the door before opening it, letting you exit the classroom as he got back to his desk to pack his things. 


	2. Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You got cues, all along. 
> 
> You didn't know why you didn't run. Maybe you had hope, the one of saving everyone. 
> 
> In a sense, you succeeded, just by putting a large, red target on yourself...

After the "incident", the class seemed to have lost its rebellious, revolted spark, only dimming down to a facticious atmosphere of compliance, which hid quite well the fear that engulfed each and everyone of you.   
You, on the other hand, felt quite lost compared to the other students. Each night, your mind made you unwillingly relive the memory of this incident... The cries, the fear in everyone's voice, the smacking sound of a ruler crashed flat on a desk... Or the sickening crack that accompanied it when it crushed a child's fingers. 

 

Each time you relived it again, the more you got confused and worried. How could only one man terrorize so much children at a time, getting to them so precisely, hurting each of them in a way or another...? Even you. He had done nothing to you, and here you were, incapable of reaching much needed slumber, only tossing and turning, thinking about what your year would look like with a man as violent as him.   
Without forgetting... He only got this mad for a single, wrong answer. And you knew how pitifully bad you were at math... There was no way you could get out of this school everyday without a scratch. 

 

He was going to get you. You knew it. And suddenly, you felt the distinct feeling of being hunted. You were starting to panic, as you suddenly made a hasted, fear-fuelled decision:   
You will try to get away. You'll try to know who you're dealing with, and try to escape. No matter how hard it was, no matter how scary it would seem... If you didn't even try, you could miss your chance in getting out of this school, safe and sound. And, who knows, maybe you could save your class, or at least some people from this madman. You remembered the voices which had rose the day of the incident, to protest against the brutal ways of your teacher. One said something like 'It has been two years'... You knew some people could have the same teacher several times, but you couldn't even begin to imagine having that kind of teacher twice. You've already had pervy or strict teachers... But an adult who likes beating children, two years in a row, that was rough...!

 

The next morning, your quest for information began. It was hard at first, because you weren't really familiar with this school yet, nor the people in it, and you didn't know where to begin with... Until you heard a conversation on the side, coming from a group of classmates who talked near your locker: 

 

"How is he doing...?"

 

"Bad, I heard... I'm not sure, but I think he had at least one broken finger..."

 

"Man, I was next to him in the next course... You should have seen the bruises..."

 

The conversation was hushed, to a ridiculous level by the way, and it was a miracle that you understood anything from those lines. As you had trouble hearing the rest, you neared your locker, opening it a gathering your things. Once you approached, your three classmates immediately went silent, glaring at you with an apprehensive glare. Smiling softly, you gave a sympathetic greeting: 

 

"Hi guys. What's the deal with the silence? I'm not going to snitch if you talk shit about teachers, you know. That would be boring..."

 

Among your classmates, one boy and two girls, the two girls chuckled, and the boy smiled invitingly. That went... Surprisingly well? Smiling at them, your slight grin soon turned into a pained frown, as you calmly said: 

 

"It's about Matthew, isn't it? I'm kinda wor-"

 

Suddenly, you were cut short by all three of the students, who mimicked you that you were too loud. Like... WAY too loud. Frowning anxiously, you gave them a confused look. You had been so calm... Why was there all this fuss about whispering secrets and never quite talking?   
One of the girls apparently took in your concerned look, as she began to whisper very quietly, nearing your ear so that you would hear her better: 

 

"Hey, listen... I know you're new here, but you're gonna cause some trouble if you speak so loud...", she waited, looking at you. But when she saw that you still had trouble understanding, she quickly explained. "Baldi has an extremely good hearing, and it's acute enough to hear you from another room, if you talk normally... So, _please_ , when you talk about him, or subjects related to him, try to whisper the quietest you can...!"

 

Finally, you somehow understood why the halls were so calm... Lowering down your voice to a bare breath, you nodded, continuing: 

 

"As I said, I'm kind of worried about Matthew... I didn't know him, but he seemed nice."

 

"He was.", said the other girl. " I still don't know why the principal doesn't fire this psycho right now...! Everyone knows, but nobody is doing anything!"

 

"Everyone knows...?", you asked, still whispering hesitantly. 

 

"Yeah... There is **no way** you can't know about Baldi, the teacher who gets off on beating children. Sometimes, he even beats students of other classes... Plus, look at him, he's so creepy... Of course everyone knows about him!", answered the guy, talking about all of this in a way too casual tone. Almost like it was... Normal. It made you uneasy, as you curiously asked: 

 

"How... But... For how long has he been keeping this up...?! I mean... The whole "Hurting Students" type of discipline...?"

 

The other girl smiled sadly, but it died way to quickly, as she explained: 

 

"...A bunch of years now...Apparently, the Principal's daughter is in this school, and he's scared that something will happen to her if he fires his only math teacher. That's why Baldi got away with sending some students to hospital. One of them had serious injuries, I think he almost died..."

 

"Are you sure this isn't some kind of rumor or something...?", you tried to ask, hoping that all of this were just absurd rumors... It couldn't be true! It just... Couldn't. 

 

But the girl looked at you dead in the eyes, suddenly asking: 

 

"Did you see what he was capable of...? One. Wrong. Answer. That was all it took for him to break Matthew's fingers. That guy is insane. Believe it or not, you'll be faced with the truth when he decides to 'punish' you."

 

You lowered your eyes, suddenly realizing how terrifying things were begining to get... He almost killed someone. A child, nonetheless. Around you, the three students continued to whisper, as you processed your thoughts over and over again. 

 

"Terry thinks Baldi's gay."

 

"Tch. What? Nonsense. Look at him... If he liked men, he wouldn't get so weird around women...Or girls..."

 

"Terry's dumb and you both know it. Plus, seriously. Look at that man. He gets weird around _everyone_. He _is_ weird. He sure has no one in his life. And if he did once, either he killed them, or they fled away."

 

"Much like I would flee away right now... I mean... A test, really? He expects us to complete a test right after he crushed a student's hands in front of our eyes? That's what I call scholar pressure..."

 

Suddenly, you snapped out of your line of thought, an alarming sense of dread pushing you to speak up again: 

 

"...We have a test today...?", you asked, uneasiness slipping in your shaky voice. 

 

"...Yes. You... Didn't study?", suddenly asked one of your classmates, a bit worried.

 

You shook your head apprehensively, completely dazed. You... Didn't study for a test given by the most ruthless teachers you've ever encountered... You were going to die. This test wasn't mentionned anywhere! Why did you feel like you were the only one who didn't know about this...?  
After you gave a helpless look to your classmates, the boy sadly added: 

 

"It was on the New's Board this morning, Baldi probably pinned it down because he forgot to tell us about the test... Or didn't want to tell us about it to openly, whatever the reason... He often does that."

 

You felt like crying...Of course, back home, you had been practicing, learning your lessons, like always! But you knew that even when learning everything perfectly, something made it so that you couldn't have an excellent grade. No matter how many times you would practice, there was something, especially in stressful tests, that made you  inevitably fail. You felt you hands becoming more and more shaky as the seconds passed, and your throat was strained, eyes watery. You could already feel each of your muscles tensing and hurting as you couldn't even begin to relax, and the need to cry became overwhelming. You...

 

You didn't want to be hurt...

 

Your entire body jumped when the bell rang, and a silent yelp bubbled in your throat, never to come out. 


	3. Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he walked behind you, you felt like a cornered prey. 
> 
> And you felt his keen eye on you, always ever so slowly eyeing what you had to offer while roaming his collection of numb students.

 

You remember how you were standing at the door of your classrom for that dreaded test. It was still morning, and you had been warned by some classmates only instants before that you had to pass a math test today. Eyeing your classmates apprehensively, you felt very, _very_ alone realizing that you were the only one scared to the point of shaking. You were all waiting for the remaining, late students, and for your professor to come and open the classroom for you. 

 

Unable to take that much stress, you put your back to the door, shakily sliding down on it to end up sitting on the floor, your back resting on the solid wood. Quietly, you buried your face in your knees, having more and more trouble breathing now.   
What were you going to do? You were so screwed right now. By the end of the day, maybe you'll never see the light again. Your teacher, that you kind of liked at the beginning of the week for his fun, comforting personnality, seemed to have turned to your worst nightmare in less than a few hours. It felt... Just awful. 

 

"Are you crying...?"

 

Suddenly, your eyes widened incredibly. You knew this voice.   
Snapping your head up, your tired gaze fell on none other than your math teacher. Right now, he had his nice facade neatly put on, as you swore you've heard some worry in his voice when he asked you if you were crying. Silently cursing, you made absolutely no sound, too taken aback by the professor's presence to do anything, besides searching for an escape and fearing for your life.   
The man's voice rose again, still very polite and gentle: 

 

"Oh...! Fortunately, you are not! Good, good. For now, I'll need you to step aside, so I can open the door, alright...?"

 

Slowly standing up and stepping aside, you just kind of stared at him, confused. If you were not mistaken, his voice seemed... Strained. Unnatural. Like he was forcing himself to seem nice and friendly. And god, you knew for sure his 'real' personality was nothing like this...  
But for now, the only thing you could think of was a way to get away from this test. If you failed it, you didn't even dare to imagine what could happen. You were just so scared...  
Quietly, your teacher opened the door, and prompted everyone to come in and take a place. You waited, apprehensive, waiting for everyone to come in as it gave you time to think of something... Anything! 

 

"What are you waiting for? Come in!", suddenly exclaimed your teacher, flashing you a joyful smile, that couldn't hide the fact that he rose his voice to break you out of your thoughts, maybe even to slightly browbeat you. 

 

"S-Sir, excuse me but... Can I use the bathroom...?"

 

It was the only thing you found to buy yourself some time, at least to try and calm your nerves... But slowly, you began to think you've made a mistake, as the polite smile the teacher held slowly died down. Just like the other day, with Matthew.   
Oh no.   
Oh god...

 

"P-Please..."

 

When you whisper hesitantly this mark of politeness, it wasn't even a question. It was a demand. You were begging, hoping with all you had you would give you a brief instant of respite. Unfortunately, you had lost the battle a moment ago. 

 

"...What do you think you're doing...?", asked the professor quietly, his voice cold as he spoke razor-sharp words. 

 

When you look up to him, you start to think even a simple 'No' would have sufficed. But no you're only faced with a void glare, where glintered a hint of vicious despite. He continues: 

 

"I know what you're trying to do, but that's not gonna work. You think I haven't seen you, trying to hide in the back of the classroom the other day? Do you think I'll cut you some slack, and that you'll get away with not listening, just because you're new here? I don't care about what you want, the only thing I'll make sure is that you follow my rules, like everyone else."

 

His void look now turned into a pissed frown, and as he just finished diminishing you, he caught you by the arm, firmly, before forcefully pushing you inside, simply ordering you: 

 

"Get in."

 

You stumble inside the classroom, mostly unsteady because you've been thrown there by a man that you expected to be a bit less strong, and a bit less brutal. Everyone was looking at you.   
Biting your lip hard and blushing, you lowered your head, quietly walking to an empty seat, only to slightly jump when your teacher harshly closed the door. You weren't sure, but when you pulled your chair, you believed that you've heard the lock of the door turn.   
Once you're seated, your only faced by a turned piece of paper, simply lying on your desk. Rising your head, you saw that one of the chairs, Matthew's one, was empty. It only deepened the weight in your stomach, as Baldi began to talk, once again with a cheery voice, only slightly less joyful than when he just arrived: 

 

"Alright everyone. The test will begin now. Take all the time you need, but once the bell is ringing, time is up! You can only exit the room after thirty minutes. Understood? Very well. Then good luck, and you can turn around your papers."

 

As a wave of paper-flipping sound rung through the classroom, you noticed that your teacher wasn't seated at his place behind the desk like usual. This time, he just took out his wooden ruler, and started to roam between the desks of his students. Despite this disturbing presence stalking through the tables, you tried to focus on the test. After all, if you knew you couldn't get all answers right, at least you also believed you couldn't get everything wrong without wanting it. 

 

You started to write. For the first ones, it was quite easy. Then you got to your second problem. Your mind ran and ran, your logic questionning every aspect of your exercize, until you supposed that you got a potentially good result. But the more you progressed on this piece of paper, the more your problems would get...Tricky. People were already starting to exit to room, as your levels of stress began to rise. You didn't know what to write... How to begin...  
You even felt your heart rate increase with the ruthless tension, and you tried to sigh, only to realize fear kept you from breathing correctly. 

 

You didn't know what to do, and as you got nervous, you suddenly heard calm steps approaching your way. Oh no, not him...  
You tried to move your pen, to give at least the slight illusion that you were working, thinking... But the only things moving were your hands, trembling on the desk. Once your teacher was behind you, you uncontrolably stopped breathing, head lowered on your paper, ignoring him the best you could. But that was apparently not enough. 

 

Nearing your seat, the man suddenly bent down, his face close to your ear, as he eyed your paper from above your shoulder. And at this precise moment, feeling his slow, warm breath on your skin, thinking of the wrong answers he was already counting, you couldn't dare to move a single inch. It felt like he was there for years, especially since you didn't dare to breath.   
Finally, he seemed satisfied enough to stand straight again. Not saying anything, not giving any clue in his body language, he just straightened up and continued to stalk his pupils.   
You thought you were going to die back there. And now...

 

You had no idea on how to focus again. 

 

Making your best to write down what you could, you were halfway through the very last problem when the bell suddenly rang. 

 

"That's it!", resonated the sing-song voice of your teacher, already starting to pick up some papers. "Time is up! Put your pens down and stop writing, the test has just ended. We'll see each other after lunch."

 

Oh, right... You still had an hour this afternoon. 


	4. Pattern

It was already afternoon, and you were filled with dread at the idea of assisting to your next course.

 

During lunch, you haven't been able to eat at all. Tension had you way to focused on what would happen next... You weren't even against eating anything, but when you tried to put anything other than water in your mouth, you sensed the instant urge to spit it out, getting nauseous and starting to shake.

 

You just ended up giving your lunch to the first approaching bully, before getting out and trying to change your ideas. It didn't work, and even when you just sat down near your locker and pulled out some homework, you couldn't even begin to focus.

 

For your other courses, it was exactly the same. You realized you couldn't concentrate for even a second, without imagining yourself crying in the place of that boy, Matthew. At each lessons, you were entering classrooms, and getting out an hour after with zero memories of what happened, or what as been said. You just felt too lost, not knowing what to do.  
As your last hour of the day approached, a lesson of math nonetheless, you began to ponder whether you should try to skip this class or not. It didn't seem like a bad idea at first... But when you evoked this idea to one of your classmates, the terrified glance they gave you was enough to make you drop the idea definitely. Apparently, the boy your teacher almost killed was a student who attempted to leave the school instead of attending class. He received a hard blow on the skull, and cracked it when he fell to the ground.

 

When the teacher arrived, you took care to stay in the back of the crowd as he opened the door. Not to defy him... It was just a reflex. You couldn't get close to that man without starting to feel afraid, the cracking sound of fingers under a ruler playing again in your head. You just whished to be discreet. To not be noticed. To work peacefully and never be approached, especially by your professor.

 

You all entered, as usual, but as opposed to the beginning of the week, you didn't greet him with that polite smile on your lips. You just briefly mumbled an acceptable greeting, keeping your head low. You felt repulsed at the idea of sitting in this classroom. You could give everything you had just to miss this... But finally, you understood that, as your professor said, what you wanted wasn't important. So the very least you could do was bracing yourself and endure the tension.  
Maybe nothing was going to happen to you, except for a bad grade. Maybe you were overreacting, and your teacher would have some clemency for you about this test?  
You just really hoped that your raging hearbeat wasn't as ominous as it felt...

 

Seated in your chair, you watched with all your classmates how Baldi closed the door behind him. This time, he didn't lock it... That's what got you to ponder. Was there a pattern to whether he would lock you all up here or not? You began to think, as your teacher's words about how he corrected your test during lunch hour were lost in your ears, never to reach your brain. He started to give back the tests to the students, each time briefly commenting on their work, as your mind raced. There had to be a pattern! If the man was obsessive enough, he would lock you everytime. But he didn't, today. He could have just forgotten, but you had the feeling it was not the case... What you had to do was find that pattern. If you learned about it, you'd learn about _him_. And maybe, just maybe, you would get a chance to escape his sick little game of "disciplining".

 

However, when you noticed that your professor got back to his place behind his desk, you realized you didn't have your paper back. 

 

Turning your head towards the other students, at least to see if you were not alone, confusion washed over you as you saw that everyone else had their tests back. And that everyone was avoiding your eyes. The few that looked at you, only for a second though, had this strange flash of pity, and compassion in their eyes. But as they adverted their gazes like everyone else, the only thing left was the indescribable glare your professor gave you from his desk. There was something cruel in it, right before it dimmed down to a peaceful, and weirdly empty stare. He started his lesson, a gentle tone soaking his deep, serene voice. 

 

"Alright, everyone! Now we can rise the level a bit, and start with a new chapter! But remember: This is not a reason to forget what you've done until now..."

 

As the lesson started, you took out your notebook and started to write down some theorems and rules about what you were learning. But you weren't focused.  
Not having your test back, you didn't know if you needed to worry, or relax instead. Maybe he wasn't finished correcting it, and you would have your week end to delay whatever fate your teacher had in store for you? But this was highly improbable, as absolutely everyone else had their paper back. Starting to slightly panic, you tried to distract yourself again by thinking about the roots of this door-locking pattern you supposed Baldi had.  
You knew you needed more time to deduce this pattern, but at least you could begin to work with what you had...

 

First of all, _why_ do you lock someone up? So they can't escape. To keep them at the same place, whether they want it or not.   
Moreover, why do you lock _yourself_ up with someone? Because you want them to do something... Because you want to do something to them. In this case, only one can get to unlock the door, and it's your teacher, meaning that he's the one in control. It means that whoever he's locking up with him, it is to force them to do something. It's a first step to bind the will of someone: having power over them.   
  


It...Started to make sense. 

 

So, when he locked the door, your teacher had something in mind. It instantly became a warning sign in your head, something anchored viscerally within you. If he turns the lock, it means you risk trouble. That much was clear to you now, meaning that if the door was unlocked, you knew for sure nothing would happen. If it was locked, that meant that was a chance you teacher would snap. Maybe the day you had tests, or when you had the solve problems, and answer questions. 

 

For now, realizing the door was unlocked, you almost unconsciously started to relax. It has been a while since you had such a relief. 

 

Now a bit more focused, you continued writing your lesson, until you suddenly jumped at the loudly ringing bell.   
Time passed so quickly when you were thinking. Your teacher announced the end of the class, and that he would give you homework next week, as many students hastily plunged there things into their bags, quickly beginning to get out of the room. Finishing to copy the last bits of lesson, you ended up doing the exact same things, excited to just get out of here. Throwing your bag on your shoulder, you began a fast pace to the door...

 

...Only to stop dead in your tracks when you heard the peacefully tired voice of your teacher call: 

 

"Not so fast there, newbie! Didn't you heard when I asked you to come at my desk when class would end...? Heh, you must be a bit tired, that's all! Don't worry!"

 

Slowly turning towards him, as the last of your classmates silently got out, the only thing you could see was that ruthless look in his eyes, which did not fit his kind smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Billie Eilish's 'Copycat' during the writing of this chapter, mainly because it has weirdly triggered my fight or flight response. This song, its tones and melody... They're kind of haunting, I guess. 
> 
> I also discovered that The Living Tombstone made a song on Baldi's Basics that's strangely similar to this story... And also that a second Baldi's Basics game is about to be released!


	5. Fear

As the few last students got out of the room, you had just stepped back a couple of steps, standing in a corner. Eventually, the room just ended up empty, a heavy silence crushing you with pressure. 

 

During those last few minutes, you had just lowered your head to hide the fear in your eyes. Your hands found their way to grasp at the hem of you sweater, and since quite a time, you had been nervously toying with it, sporadically twisting it between your aching fingers.   
In your anticipation, pressure had rose enough for you to feel everything aching. Fear grasped your hands and made the spaces between your fingers hurt, it strained your throat, and you felt the exact same painful pressure behind your collarbones. Your stomach was aching with balled up pression, as a tremor shook your spine. 

 

Suddenly, a loud noise made you violently jump, snapping your head up towards its source: the teacher's desk.   
Said teacher had just gotten up, and the facticious, serene smile he wore was long gone, only to let him stare at you with vicious anger. His glare was darkened by shadows of hatred, and his cold words fell into your ears as he made a step: 

 

" **Don't move.** ", he abruptly ordered, his voice threatening, so deep it almost sounded like a growl. 

 

Taken aback and quietly gasping, you couldn't help but to obey, eyeing each of his steps with dread-filled apprehension. Getting closer and closer, one of his spindly hands moved towards the door handle, only to grab it firmly, closing it in a swift movement.   
Then, his other hand reached out. 

And turned the key, locking the door. 

 

At this moment, your throat abruptly constricted, blocking a whimper and your breath at the same time, your fingers twisted painfully in the clothe of your sweater.   
Throwing a single, cold-hearted glance at you, Baldi just turned away, walking up to his desk and sitting back at his seat again. His frown never disappeared, as he just aggressively took out a piece of paper, chucking it flat onto his desk, before his deadly glare fell on you again. 

 

"Come closer.", he ordered solemnly, gesturing you to move forward as his eyes fell on the paper. 

 

You never liked being bossed around... And, if you could, you'd have just refused to move. Oh, how you wanted to just politely decline his demand... But this man, everything in him was just screaming of danger. The way he always stood straight and excruciatingly tall. The way his broad shoulders made him more imposing, casting his shadow over you. The way his long, crooked fingers moved with a precise grace, grabbing things with unexpected strengh and a sense of repressed wrath. His calm breathing that picked up dreadfully when he was getting angrier. The darkness in his eyes when he stood over you...  
And as much as you wanted to refuse getting close to your teacher, it only took one more furious glance and a arched eyebrow from him to get you to move. 

 

Shakily walking towards him, you sensed your heartbeat getting anarchic. It felt like you were going to die if you got any closer... Like you were slowly walking at the edge of a cliff.   
When you stopped only a couple of steps away from him, already having trouble breathing calmly, he quietly growled, furrowing his brow. 

 

However, you completely stopped breathing as a violent shiver abruptly shook you, when he forcefully grabbed your arm, agressively pulling you towards him. 

 

You were only stopped by your knee, when it collided painfully with the side of your teacher's chair. Gasping, and blocking a small whimper, you only straightened up when you felt his bony finger pressing harder around your wrist... Like a warning. When he let go of you, you pulled your arm back to you like he burnt you.   
You weren't prepared for this. Having no idea what would be coming next, apprehension washed over you like a sudden, ice cold shower. Then, turning your head, you realized it was your test that was lying on Baldi's desk. It had no grade on it...  
  
But there was red everywhere. 

 

"What is that."

 

Your heart skipped a beat when your professor spoke again, his voice stern and way darker than usual. Slowly, you turned to him, confused and afraid. Was his question rhetorical...? It sounded like it... Maybe silence was the safest option you had for now. But rapidly, you realised how wrong you were when your teacher yelled unexpectedly, startling you: 

 

"I ASKED YOU SOMETHING...!"

 

You winced at the booming, sudden voice, right before your eyes started to fill with tears...Afraid beyond belief, you lowered you head so he wouldn't see you on the verge of crying, simply mumbling in a strained, shaky voice: 

 

"...A-A test..."

 

Your heart skipped a painful beat, and you accidentally let out an helpless gasp when your teacher's hand came crashing down on the desk, as he hit it in an unleashed rage, immediately correcting: 

 

"A FAILED test... YOUR failed test-..."

 

"I'm sorry!"

 

A sudden, heavy silence fell upon the room as you cut your teacher. You couldn't help it... It was almost like you thought that, and your thoughts pushed their way through your mouth without you even realizing it...

 

But when you slowly lifted your gaze towards him, you had to bite back a terrified whimper: He was livid.  
His expression was completely blank, void of any apparent feelings. He just had this disturbingly empty stare plastered on his face, as he just wordlessly stared at you. Getting silently stared at this way, you sensed you shaking worsening, as a powerful feeling of fear pooled in your chest. 

Suddenly, he stood up, making his chair squeak with a stabbing high pitched sound. At the unexpected sound, you jumped, and felt you long held tears suddenly rolling on your cheeks, a heavy, burning flow tracing the skin of your face. Your teacher was towering over you, staring intently at you from above, casting a menacing shadow over you. 

 

" _You're sorry...?_ "

 

You slightly gasped when you heard him pick up his ruler on the desk, still staring deep into his eyes, as you couldn't stop your tears. You desperately tried to stop crying... But your constricted throat was deeply aching, and a discreet, uncontrolable hiccup settled in. When your professor saw you heave with a repressed hiccup, you could have sworn a half smile crossed his features.   
However, before you could focus on anything else, a smacking sound startled you enough for you to lower your eyes: Your teacher had his ruler in one of his incredibly large hands, and he just smacked the palm of his other hand with it, testing the strengh he could put in one blow...

You made a step back, your eyes stuck on the heavy ruler. 

 

" _...You can't even begin to imagine what it feels like..."_

 

You shook your head, seeing the man approaching you. Your tears were flowing freely now, as another smacking sound made you violently shiver, before you took a step back. You felt cornered. Helpless...

 

" _ **I'll make you feel sorry.** "_

 

A sudden gasp shook you, as your teacher unexpectedly quickened his pace towards you. The mix of surprise and anticipation you felt suddenly died under the weight of dread, when your back hit the cold, solid wall behind you. Eyeing your professor as he came close enough to almost corner you, you didn't expect one of his long arms to reach for your wrist, his long fingers gliding under the clothe as he forcefully grabbed your forearm, part of his ruler digging into your skin as he did so..   
It felt like his cold hand almost burned you, as you suddenly tried to hastily yank your arm away, exclaiming in a trembling voice: 

 

"D-DON'T-...!"

 

You were suddenly cut short by a whipping, sharp pain projecting your face to the side. The loud sound of the brutal slap you just received still resonated in the room, and your neck was hurting from the violent blow. Your breath was shaking with the ghost of a cry, but you still found the strengh to turn your gaze to your teacher.   
He looked at you intently, his eyes shining with vivid fury... And he took to his mouth the finger which had been stained by your tears. His lips closed around the skin of his free hand, before it fell like nothing ever happened. 

 

Horrified by that sight, you threw him a terrorized look of pure confusion, as his hand came to your sleeve, pushing it up and exposing your intact forearm. You craved to yank your arm back... But now, you knew better than to try that. Breath still quickened and shaky, you felt how your teacher's free hand, which had just pulled back your sleeve, glided to hold your hand firmly.   
The other one on your wrist, holding the ruler, slide away to rest by his side. 

 

He looked at you coldly, before bending your trembling hand in an angle you've never even felt before. Quietly whimpering, you started to brace yourself, incapable of stopping the flow of your tears. 

 

Your teacher abruptly raised his ruler, taking enough speed so it would come crashing in the crook of your wrist. It wasn't a flat blow, and the thinner, harder side of the ruler dived into your skin before you felt a painful tremor shoot through your arm and stopping at your shoulder. You gave a loud gasp before your voice broke, and you started to weep despite your best efforts to remain silent. 

 

Your teacher let go of you, silently getting back to his desk. The last thing you heard from him seemed incomprehensible in your mind, since every thoughts you had seemed blurried by your pain. 

 

"After classes, you'll work on your math with me. For now... _ **Get out while you still can.**_ ****"


	6. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who would like to have some ambient sound, I've made up a playlist on youtube with a few soundtracks that usually succeed at getting me at least unnerved, and help me write the most stressful parts of the story. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7mz64SxYCp-umNT6TEu_yFkz_mxxeD1D
> 
> It's mostly game music, so it shouldn't disturb your reading; it's designed to help you concentrate!  
> By the way, I wanted to say THANK YOU! I've only took a break of like... Two days? And here I come only to be crushed by your lovely comments! I want to kiss and hug each and everyone of you, you fuel me to write everyday! Thank you all for your kind words and support, it's priceless to me!  
> Enjoy your reading!

You didn't know what your teacher did to you... Nor how he did it, but you have the distinct memory that your arm was throbbing with an unpleasant pain when you got out of your classroom. 

 

During almost two complete days, your arm was limp, and plagued from your wrist to your shoulder by the same pain you could feel when you knocked the nerve in your elbow hard on something. That kind of maddening pain managed to torture you during the two whole days of your week end... You remember how, just the night after you've been scolded at, and hit for your test, you couldn't find rest. It was just impossible. Your aching arm was keeping you awake, and each time you at least tried to sleep, closing your eyes, you ended up reliving the same moment, when a cold pair of eyes just fell on you, before a heavy wooden ruler did the same. Each time unconsciousness began to dawn on you, this nightmarish vision came back, and you didn't have to wait much to wake up in tears, a violent hiccup shaking your tensed body awake. 

 

You only had been here for a week, and you already felt so desperate. 

 

  
You remember how, only a bit more than a week ago, in your previous house, school...Life... Everything felt easier. You had friends. You had marks. You felt content with who you were. But now... Everything became blurry and unsure. This lack of clarity scared you. You felt like in just a few days, your life crumbled from comfortable to nightmarish.   
Usually, you thought this kind of things happened progressively. Life doesn't become hellish in one night. You always thought that if it ever happened to you, it would be a descending slope. That one minor event leads to another, and another, and so one until you lose everything. And moreover, you've always thought it would never happen to you. It was always the kind of things that happened to others. Your life was so good and put together, nothing would ever happen to you! Right?

 

But it took only one week to show you how wrong you were. One week.   
And one man. 

 

Lying in your bed thinking of this, the instant you thought about the mere presence of your teacher, you clenched your pillow. Your arm, the one that gotten hit, started to ache with a dull, but certain pain as your muscles tensed. Suddenly, your throat became really tight, and your breath started to shake. Burying your head in the softness of your pillow, something suddenly broke inside of you, and you weeped the tears you had held during that long, empty week end. 

 

You didn't want to go back to school tomorrow. You didn't want to be hurt again. You didn't want to face that cold, empty glare again. You didn't want to be screamed at, to feel the same kind of fear. The one that made you uncontrolably break, the one that made you cry when something hurtful was about to happen, even when you usually felt strong enough to overcome this.

 

You didn't want to feel that weakness and helplessness. 

 

But when the day came by, you knew you had to go. After all, you couldn't quit just because you felt bad about something. Your parents were already under so much stress with their jobs and moving out, and the money they had to save... It wasn't the moment to show them that you were weak. They didn't need this, nor deserve it.   
Somehow, you felt a bit responsible about what happened. If you had been more attentive, maybe all of this wouldn't have happened? Maybe you just needed to try harder. You just didn't want to bother anyone. Nobody needed your problems along with theirs, after all. Moreover, you felt like if you let everything down right now, you wouldn't hold your promise to try and get away from all this mess. You felt like you would betray the few people you could have helped. Some of your classmates, maybe. 

 

Getting ready, you then decided you would take the day to come. And the other one. And that you'll try enough to find a solution. Something to make your tyranic teacher leave you alone. Something to make him stop. It could be anything: A law, the threat to go to the police, the presence of another adult with you... You felt like those kind of things  could stop him. You hoped so. 

 

And with that, you had the feeling you found a bit of your motivation back. You had to keep going, and you pushed yourself to be strong enough to do so. Already getting out of your house and taking your bike for the long ride to your school, you kept wondering. Maybe, as you were already hit last week, your teacher would pick someone else to fulfill his need for violence? You didn't wish anything like that to anyone, far from it. You didn't want to be that kind of bad person, who whishes someone else had their problems... But if you didn't have to suffer another blow today, you couldn't deny that you would probably feel some relief. 

 

  
During your ride to school, lost in your thoughts, you almost missed the darkened dawn sky, bearing with its nightly hue a battery of thick, dark grey clouds. There was going to be a storm today...

 

School today felt... Dull. After what happened at the end of your last week, you didn't know what to think of 'normal' courses. Not that you were eager to find a terrifying thrill in your other classes, far from it. But before, you've always loved to learn new things. You always made your best to find at least some interesting details in your subjects. Knowledge was something you valued, once. But now, the only thing that remained was the apprehension for your upcoming encounter with your math teacher. Everything became minor, compared to the growing menace of seeing him again. 

 

It was a sad feeling. 

 

During the whole day, you threw lost glances through the windows, seeing the white fall sky becoming greyer and greyer with every rain-gorged clouds gathering. The storm was approaching so slowly, growing larger, but never falling. During some, particularily quiet classes, you sometimes heard a cracking sound in the sky, the distant rumble of thunder, but it always ended up disappearing, letting a void silence setting in instead.   
Your last lesson of the day, like last week, was an hour of math. As you waited in front of the classroom, three of the classmates you've already talked to came by, a benevolent look in their eyes. The boy spoke first, whispering, as always: 

 

"Hey there... You look tired."

 

You gave a quiet chuckle, before whispering back, a faint smile forcibly stretching your lips: 

 

"...Do I look that terrible?"

 

One of the girls spoke too, compassion showing in her voice: 

 

"We were worried. We saw how the Baldi tried to take you apart... We wanted to know if you were doing okay."

 

"Yeah... I know the guy's pretty ruthless, but it's rare for him to attack someone so quickly. Especially a newbie.", added the other girl complacently.

 

At their words, something broke inside of you. You lifted a confused gaze, incapable of speech.   
...Were they _really_ asking you if you were doing okay?...Oh, yes. You were doing great. As great as you could feel when someone threatened to abuse you physically as often as they could.  
It was twisted, the way they took it so... So normally! They all spoke about this like it didn't bother them more than a simple, annoying detention! But you refused. It was _not_ normal. Your fears were _not_ going to become banal. The cries of that boy, with the broken fingers were _never_ going to be normal. Nor the way your teacher looked at you viciously, the day he dared to take a taste at your tears.   
Refraining from showing your anger, you simply replied in a calm, hushed voice: 

 

"I... I don't really want to talk about-..."

 

                                                                _**SMACK.**_

 

You all had been so engulfed in your thoughts and whispers, that you didn't even notice that your teacher had arrived, and opened the classroom before prompting everyone inside. You were the only four remaining outside, not having heard the man, who was now kindly smiling at you after he gave a loud smacking sound when he hit the palm of his hand with his ruler. 

 

"Enough with the chit-chat, children...!", he joyfully advised. "I need you all four inside so we can begin a fun, new lesson...! Come on, hurry up!"

 

When you had seen him, with a ruler in his hand, you felt your voice being suddenly blocked in your chest, your breath now inexistant as, for the brief moment, your eyes had widen in shock. You had prepared for the whole day to see him, but right now, you felt as nothing could ever prepare you to face him. No matter his mood, the only thing you saw was the cold glint in his eyes. Every time.   
An arm suddenly wrapped around yours, and your head suddenly snapped down towards one of the girls. Seeing you staring at your teacher fearfully, and not moving, she silently grabbed your arm- and your attention- and made you move towards the class, tearing you away from your paralyzed state. Lowering your head and silently walking, you moved your lips, not letting out a single breath as you mouthed: 

 

"Thank you..."

 

She didn't say anything.

 

Once inside the class, you sat quickly, so you could watch how your teacher entered the classroom. He didn't lock the door.   
In an almost ritualistic way, you hastily grabbed your notebook, only to skip to the very last page. On it, you've made a spreadsheet. One column was dedicated to the date, the other one, to whether the door was locked or not... And there was a column where you draw a happy, or a sad little face, depending on if someone was hit during class. It had a morbid side, to count the hittings and all the times you would have been caged in this room, but you had no better idea to determine your teacher's pattern of door-locking. 

 

The lesson went by, with the seemingly fun and easy-going attitude of your teacher coming with it. It was a relief to feel he was in what you could call a good mood that day. But soon, the storm building up outside ended up finally exploding. The unexpected booming crack of the thunder made you jump, pooling the darkened classroom in a blinding white light for a second, before heavy rain started to pour abundantly. Looking out the window, you saw how nature was distorted by the violent wind, bended in a unique direction and being rapidly soaked by the water pouring from the sky. The storm unleashing it's violence outside was somewhat comforting, and at the idea of staying warm inside your school and watching the rain pour in a relative, calming silence felt relaxing to you. It was the kind of thing you liked. The heavy drops were hitting the window next to you harshly, making an almost clapping, constant and loud sound. It could almost have surpassed your teacher's voice, and more and more people instinctively turned to see how big the storm was, worried by the raging thunder which never failed to rumble and explode again in a wave of white light. 

 

Until something else made them turn and worry: The crashing, deafening sound of the teacher's rule against his desk. His voice became deeper, as he warned: 

 

"I have a lesson to finish here; so if any of you imbeciles turn to that storm again, there will be consequences."

 

You had jumped with the rest if the class, and remembered how your teacher once scolded you about not listening to him. Your day-dreamming personality, the quietness you naturally had, he seemed deeply suspicious about it. Or at least you thought so. As all the students stayed straight and concentrated, including you, Baldi started to talk again... But his joyful tone never returned quite as it was at the begining.   
The lesson went by uneventfully, despite all the times the thunder cracked again, and you had to fight the urge to turn your head and stare at the sky being cut by clear, purplish lightenings. Those ephemeral, luminescent veins dividing the sky felt addictive, in a sense. 

 

The lesson finally ended, as the bell rang loudly in the halls outside, and most voices arose with a complaint that they would have to go back home under the heavy rain that didn't even weaken. You felt bothered in the same way, already starting to pack your things and watching the students exit the room, as you thought of the bike you had to ride under the heavy storm in order to go back home. Standing up and putting your notebook in your bag, you started to hurry as you saw some of your last classmates getting out of the room. 

 

You only bent down to tie up your shoelaces correctly. It only took a moment...

 

But when you stood back up again, there was no one in view anymore. You only felt a bony, large hand sliding on one of your shoudlers, and instantly froze. It was too large for your shoulder only, and a violent shiver ran up your spine when you felt your teacher's long, cold fingers slipping lightly on your neck. His dark voice rumbled, cold and devoid of any joy, seeming even more ominous than the rumbling thunder: 

 

"Why the hurry...? We still have an hour of tutoring... Remember?"

 

It was eerie how his voice was so calm, and yet so threatening. 

 

Like a storm coming...


	7. Less than human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some Baldi sketches last night for y'all: 
> 
> http://maple--cookie.tumblr.com/post/176534064054/some-sketches-i-did-last-night-to-those
> 
> http://maple--cookie.tumblr.com/post/176552253884/i-suppose-he-has-a-cold-glance

Your teacher's hand slid away from your shoulder. You've never felt so alone...

 

But you've felt with a disturbing clarity every inch of the poisoned skin of your teacher's hand when it slid against your shoulder. It felt like he had burnt you, even through your clothes.  
Your hands were shaking, and you jumped unexpectedly when your bag slipped from your unsteady hands, crashing on the floor and letting your books slide on the ground. Your breath was just as shaky, and you felt weak under the crushing realization that you were still in danger. To the sudden sound of your bag hitting the ground, your teacher, who was walking towards his desk, turned briefly around, warning you with a single, piercing look before coldly ordering: 

 

"Take a chair and come next to me."

 

But as your professor's words almost slipped past you, your unfortunate state of shock led to something else: suddenly, you saw yourself with a deeply clear simplicity. You couldn't let go just now. You couldn't let yourself crumble right now. Yes, you were scared. You felt desperate even. All you wanted was to escape.   
But right now, the only thing you could do to avoid anything was to be docile.   
You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, full of tension, in the vain hope to remain calm. Your were still shaking a lot, but forcing your shoulders to lower, you had made things insidiously better. At least you hoped so. 

 

You bent down, gathering the things that had fallen down back into your bag, managing to tense your muscles enough to force your trembling fingers into some steadiness. Then, putting it to the side and only keeping your notebook and a pen, you grabbed a nearby chair and started to drag it along with you...  
Only for your teacher to stand up, looking at you with an already slightly irritated look. But... For the first time, you had seen nothing more than irritation, as he suddenly approached you. You looked at him with a bit of confusion though: What did you do wrong this time? You haven't begun yet!

 

Arriving to your level, he just ended up bending down and snatching the chair from your hand, rising it higher like it weighted almost nothing... But those things were _heavy_. In the sense of something you couldn't help but to drag down on the school's tiles. His voice rose again, as he began to walk to his desk with your chair under his arm: 

 

"...Hurry up."

 

You had to remember what you said to yourself to keep from hesitating: 'Remain docile. Do what he says for now.'  
With that, you simply nodded, starting to walk again until he sat down on his chair. You didn't like being bossed around like that. Actually, you hated that. But right now, what you liked or not didn't matter. Fighting against your own hesitations, you clenched your teeth, bracing yourself before simply sitting down on the chair you teacher placed right next to him. 

 

He seemed to stare at you with a keen eye, almost intrigued by your sudden compliance, as you made your best to bear the heavy glare he put down on you. You just lowered your head, keeping your lips pinched, pretending you had no idea he was staring at you. Then he moved, and you saw from the corner of your eyes how his slender silhouette bent to the side as he searched for something in his bag. 

 

Even if you didn't want to be here, you had the distinct feeling he was less angry than the evening he had given you your test back. And moreover, he didn't lock the door. That alone made you incredibly less distressed. You almost opened the notebook in your hands to note that information, until you remembered you couldn't let your teacher see that. Maybe he would get angry and tear down your page... Or worse, maybe he would understand that you knew he had a pattern, and hurt you more in order to not continue...?   
For now, you just put down your notebook, and just as you began to feel your muscles slowly becoming less tensed, you jumped when your teacher slammed a piece of paper on the desk.  
...You hated being that jumpy when he was around, especially for that fact that you couldn't help it.

 

Wordlessly, Baldi just got up, leaving you to stare at the paper silently as you didn't know what to do. Having put down your notebook, the only thing remaining between your fingers to fidget with was your pen, which you turned in every possible direction in the vain hope of relieving some tension. 

 

As your teacher left your side, you sighed as quietly as possible, slowly beginning to have some hope for the best. You didn't have a freshly failed test on your hands, and your teacher didn't seem as angry as before. Maybe he was menacing, but that wasn't enough to stop you from trying to see a bright side. Not much could have stopped you from this, actually, as you desperately needed to feel something less negative. Feeling yourself crumbling more and more each day, your need for some hope became overwhelming. 

 

But then, your eyes met the piece of paper your teacher had slammed against his desk. 

 

You felt a familiar knot forming in your throat, and your eyes slowly widened. It was exactly the same as your test, but with different numbers. Different operations... And some you've never seen before. You weren't even sure these were things you've learned... The symbols felt so foreign, and the pinch you felt in your heart didn't help you understand those numbers which mixed in your head. 

 

However, you twitched, and the knot in your throat became a heavy weight in your stomach when you heard something. At that sound, you felt everything sinking deeper inside yourself. You wanted to escape from your own skin, a deep feeling of anxiety washing over you as your breathing picked up. 

 

_The door was locked now._

 

Your hands began to shake again, as you heard the slow pace of your teacher approaching you. Stopping right behind you, you felt your neck tensing. Almost like his mere presence was choking you. Then, a deep feeling of deja vu settled, when from the corner of your eyes, you saw how he placed one hand on the desk, right next the paper, putting his weight on it. You felt the other grabbing the back of your chair, as your teacher slightly bent towards you and the new test. You felt caged, his insidious presence filling you with dread, just like the day he bent down on you, when you took the test. 

 

You gasped when you suddenly felt a rough push behind you, your teacher unexpectedly pushing your chair forward until your ribs hit the desk painfully. In a reflex, you had put your hands on the side of it, in a way to give you leverage if you wanted to push away. And, mostly, to keep the table to dive between your ribs any more as your breathing felt strained now. Following that movement, you teacher neared your chair, his hips right behind you, so you wouldn't have a chance to push yourself from that position. He then ordered, his voice becoming less and less warm: 

 

"Keep straight and focus, we're working now."

 

Listening the best you could, you tried to push yourself up hesitantly, your tensed muscles helping you staying quite straightened up already. Then, staring at the paper in front of you, you held your pen tight with trembling fingers, trying to seem focused enough. 

 

But the fact was, you just couldn't focus. The assembly of random numbers on the paper felt ever-changing, like your brain couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was seeing. Maybe fear clouded your mind enough to make it useless, and tried to cope the best way it could by constantly turning your concentration to something else. Mostly, your eyes drifted on a regular basis to the large, bony hand resting right beside you, and you desperately tried to slow down your suffocated breath. The only thing you prayed for was that he wouldn't notice that you were scared. That you were _that_ scared. 

 

A spasm shook you when you heard his voice suddenly ringing again, closer to your ear now: 

 

"What do you see?"

 

This time, the question didn't feel rhetorical. But when you opened your mouth, it suddenly just...Hung there, as nothing came out. Each time you tried to formulate an answer, to say something, it felt like a plug had formed in your throat, keeping you from even breathing. You pushed your voice, you wanted to say something... But an hesitant muteness had taken over you. You began feeling your legs shaking, your knees lightly colliding into one another.   
A sudden, dark threat rang through your ears again, and you couldn't help but to silently gasp again when you heard this deep voice from behind: 

 

" _You're going to begin answering me if you don't want to be punished._ "

 

At the smallest idea of being 'punished' again, your mind began racing, and you felt nauseous. The memories of your last encounter alone with him started to play in a loop inside your head, and shock began to make you dizzy. Pressing your hand on your mouth, an awful feeling of worry filled your chest, as you simply nodded. But apparently, it wasn't enough. When you heard a trembling inhale behind you, it took only half a second for your eyes to follow the hand next to you, as it suddenly grabbed the yellow ruler at the other end of the table. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of that tool, as you remembered for the pain it inflicted you, and you felt your voice suddenly burst out shakily, and yet barely louder than a panicked whisper: 

 

"Y-Yes...!  
I-I...I see... A s-second test...?"

 

Silence.   
But then your teacher's voice rang again, shifting from ruthless threat to a quiet, cold tone that held no sympathy for you: 

 

"It looks like it. Those are problems, to teach you about logic and train you to use the lessons you didn't listen."

 

You let out a breath, shakily exhaling. For now you didn't do anything wrong, or at least wrong enough to be hurt. And if you never got to feel less scared, at least you didn't suffer any more than that. Following the heavy silence of your professor, you tentatively opened your pen, only to try solving the first problem... Your eyes drifted from Baldi's long fingers tapping on his ruler to the paper, and you started to recognize the first numbers... At first, you started to apply what you knew. The numbers changed swiftly in your head as you calculated silently, and logic coursed swiftly in your mind. It was almost... Easy. Satisfying even. 

 

You could almost have felt proud of your achievement, if you weren't so focused on the threatening presence behind you, eyeing silently everything you wrote. Then you got to the second question. You started with the same technique you've used before, a tad bit more confident. At first, everything did flow on the same, swift way. It seemed correct. But then... You came across something you didn't know, and you blocked. Your mind started to get confused. There was a sign that felt... Misplaced. If not for it, you could've continued solving the problem. But this single, small detail distorted everything including your final answer. 

 

You wanted to say something. Anything.   
'I think there's something wrong.'  
'I don't understand.'  
'I don't know what to do... Please help me.'

 

But as your mouth opened slightly, no sound came out. You wanted to say that you were stuck. That you simply didn't know how to solve this. But each time you thought about a way to say it, it felt terribly wrong. Feeling the slow, warm breathing of your professor lightly brushing past your neck as he eyed your work, it felt like he would just snap at anything you could say, only to give him a chance to hurt you. 

 

You didn't want to be hurt. You were scared of that look in his eyes. Of the pain he could inflict to you. 

 

Giving up, you tried to go past that detail you didn't understand. It wasn't logical, and the following calculations -or in that case, miscalculations- made you cringe. In the end, your shaky hands drew the result weakly.   
The result was completely incoherent.   
Still shaking like a leaf, you couldn't bear the heavy silence that settled in. Baldi bent a bit more towards you, and it painfully itched you to just turn around, to read what he thought through this terrifyingly expressive gaze of his, and tell him to stop being so close. But as your uneasiness grew, the only thing you could do was to pretend nothing was happening. 

 

You hesitantly moved your pen, starting to solve the next problem. You thought the silence was deafening, as dread held you by the throat. But suddenly, you felt your teacher's breath picking up alarmingly... He sounded absolutely furious. You almost turned your gaze to him, starting to become painfully nervous.   
...Until you heard a husky voice growling viciously right next to your ear: 

 

 

" **...I'LL͢ GE͡Ţ ̷A͠N̴GŖI̷E̢R͘ F͘O̸R EVE̛RY͏ P͢R̷O̷B̶LE̕M͏ ͟YOU ̷GE҉T ͟WR̛ONG.͜** "

 

 

Your eyes abruptly widened, and when you saw from the corner of your gaze his grip on his ruler tightening in an uncanny way, you just snapped.   
Abruptly grabbing the side of the table and giving a rough push, you felt your chair striking your professor, and even the back of your head slightly brushing on his abdomen, you managed to put enough space between you and the desk to stand up. As soon as you noticed this, you stepped to the side, instantly getting a few steps away. You made sure to not make the same mistake as before, and instantly made a sprint to the students desks instead of cornering yourself against a wall. 

 

Turning back towards your teacher, you didn't even realize that a continuous stream of tears poured down your cheeks, nor that the sudden impulse and the sudden rush of adrenaline made each of your muscles spasm with distressed panic.

 

At that moment, the only thing you noticed was the lurid glare your teacher threw you. He just stared at you, heinous wrath burning in his eyes, to the point there wasn't any expression on his face. He didn't even look human anymore. He just appeared to you as a machine, broken and motivated only by his violent ire and your imminent suffering. 

 

You never felt the ordeal of terror so powerfully in your life. Ever.   
Your heart was racing, pumping blood faster and faster, in vain as you doubted you could run away that easily. Each of your muscles constricted and tensed, as you couldn't stop shaking. What was wrong with you...? You promised yourself earlier that day that you wouldn't move. That you would show yourself to be compliant. That you wouldn't show him your fear... Just so that he wouldn't keep you as a prey for too long, and have himself an excuse to torment you. 

 

Now everything you did was useless. Only because it took you a second to snap and let your panic have the best of you. 

 

When your teacher, who had his ruler held so tight in his grasp his hand started to shake, abruptly took a large, calm step in your direction, you felt the blood draining from your face. Taking a few steps back, keeping the most distance possible between you, you cried out, weakly shaking your head: 

 

"D-D-Don't... D-Don't touch me!"

 

Ignoring what you said, your professor took another wide step towards you. Suddenly, he rose his ruler, hitting the palm of his hand with it in an unexpectedly loud, clapping sound. An abrupt tremor shook you to the core, and you helplessly winced at the sound, only to hear the livid voice of your teacher: 

 

" _...Not touch you? You think I won't lay a hand on you?_ "

 

Another clapping sound. He took a step, and you took two steps back, feeling more tears streaming down your cheeks as you shook your head slightly. 

 

" _...After what you did...?_ "

 

He sounded more and more vicious, as another blow from his ruler to his hand rang through the classroom. Absolutely panicked, you backed away again, whimpering desperately as your voice broke: 

 

"S-Sir... Please, s-st-stop..."

 

Your teacher suddenly stopped, only giving one last hit of his ruler in his hand, as his eyes widened with deep fury, and his hoarse voice deadpanned menacingly: 

 

" _ **No.**_ "

 

You felt yourself abruptly paling, right before your teacher suddenly took two large, fast steps towards you, only to snatch your wrist with his free hand before you could do anything. His grasp was painfully tight, and your first reflex was to try tearing his arm away and yank your arm back. Unfortunately, you were discovering the sheer strength your teacher had, as he barely moved and only constricted his grip around you.   
Losing the last of your self-control,  you couldn't help but to try to pull your arm back, as you cried: 

 

"STOP! G-Get away...!"

 

As you pleaded, he barely even moved. With a steal grip around your wrist, he brutally jerked you towards him, making you stumble on your own, trembling feet before slamming your forearm on the nearest table. Your eyes widened, and as you continued to try and pull your arm away, you suddenly watched as your professor rose his ruler high.   
You couldn't take it anymore. 

 

You couldn't detach your eyes from the ruler, sobbing quietly and abundantly as shock overwhelmed you. 

 

Everything went very fast.


	8. Uneasy

Your legs felt wobbly. 

 

You felt weak, knees shaking, as you were sobbing as quietly as you could, holding your hand to your chest. 

 

Once you watched your teacher's heavy ruler collide with your hand, unable to detach your fearful gaze from this violent view, you had managed to yank your hand back to you, mostly because the man holding you finally let go of your arm. You had stepped back now, a fair number of steps away from your professor. Ideally, the farther you were from him, the better. But inside a locked classroom, the best you could do was just backing off, even from a small distance like this. He, on the other hand, stood still by the table where he had crushed your hand, silently throwing you a heartless glance. 

 

Outside, the thunder cracked loudly, bathing the room in an ethereal light, just as you let out a shaky breath. You took a brief look at your injured hand, shaking severely: All of the fingers of your hand, except for the thumb, began to shift from a bright red color the crimson traces, which would most probably become darkened bruises. The most bruised finger was your index finger, as you already saw a black stain growing under your nail, bearing deep shades of purple underneath it. Also, near the joint, the dark crimson shade of your skin had already begun turning into light purple. 

 

You couldn't stop sobbing, as you tried to repress your nascent, panicked hiccup. A heavy pain pounded in your hand. It was throbbing, and your skin was burning. When you touched the skin of your hand, it was more than warm, and the atrocious sensation reminded you clearly of all those times you had your fingers stuck in a closing drawer or a closing door. It was just terribly painful. Still shook by random spasms because of your cries, something constricted in your chest. A feeling of guilt, like you weren't allowed to cry. Like you were feeling something forbidden.   
Using the sleeve of your good hand to wipe away sloppily your tears and your slightly running nose, you sniffled, and wordlessly started to walk towards the corner where you had left your bag. You were hurt. You were terrified.   
But letting out a trembling exhale, you closed your eyes, and neared your bag with the blurry thought that at least it was over now-...

 

"And what do _you_ think you're doing...?"

 

Your teacher deep voice rung over the sound of the rain, cutting your train of thoughts, and suddenly you stopped dead in your tracks. His voice wasn't as vicious now... It was eerily serene, the coldness in it mixing with something akin to, strangely enough, a sort of amused cruelty.  Slightly turning your head up to his towering form, you felt the remaining adrenaline keeping you shaky, as you shyly mumbled: 

 

"I-...I thought this was over..."

 

As you spoke lowly, your teacher had straightened up into a more composed stance, joining his hands behind his back, one of them still holding his precious tool. Then, he just kept getting closer to you, until he was towering over your cowering, intimidated form. You couldn't believe this was happening. He really thought about keeping you here? With the state of your hand?   
Who were you kidding. He was probably thrilled by the simple idea of keeping you here with him. To feel the rush of power when he hurt you. At the simple consideration of your teacher's sadism, you felt an embarrassed knot in your throat. You didn't want to be a part of this. 

 

At your answer, you saw how his lips stretched in the ghost of a cold-hearted smile, the edges barely even curling as you found in his eyes the exact same glance you thought you've seen when you met him at your first day of school. The one of sinister satisfaction and unleashed cruelty. 

 

"It's not. Sit back and correct your mistake...Before something regretful happens."

 

In a somewhat astounded silence, you ended up hesitantly nodding, lowering your head and wiping your tears away again before you started to walk back to the desk. The thunder outside rumbled again, stress fueling each of your tired step as your heart raced.    
After all, you couldn't really do anything else, but comply. 

 

Your teacher followed you, as you felt that unlike the pure panic which has diluted into a dispersed feeling of anguish, the uneasiness you felt never disappeared. Back at the desk, you slowly sat down, and your teacher stood behind you again. You started to bend down on your paper again, taking your pen back before feeling a familiar, rough push behind your chair. Instinctively, you straightened up, your strained throat never relaxing. Still holding your injured hand close to your chest, letting it shake with burning pain against your sweater, you looked at your previous miscalculations. Eyeing it fearfully, you realized worry came back, as you still didn't know what to do. 

 

Pain wasn't going to make you better at math, and after what you endured, you came to the dawning realization that you couldn't do this alone. You stared at the paper, your hand not even moving, as you pondered again and again about the same rows of numbers. Your mind was unclear, and you had the impression the veins in your skull were growing heavy and tired.   
A few, long instants passed. The seemed endless to you... Until you felt your teacher bending towards you again, similarly to the position he had before. It really disturbed you feeling him this close, but your nervousness abruptly deepened, when instead of having his hand respectively on the back of your chair and on the table, right next to the paper, you felt his long fingers sliding near your collarbone as he grabbed your shoulder, his other hand pointing the failed problem you tried to correct. 

 

Your breathing itched, and at that precise moment, you couldn't even help but to give the most faint roll of your shoulder, silently begging he would let go of you. He didn't. His voice simply rang near your ear, from above: 

 

"The biggest parenthesis. Ignore it, it's useless."

 

You thought, before, that the most disturbing thing you've ever heard was the voice of your teacher, when he was angry. How his breath became wild, and his voice hoarse with tension and vicious hatred. He always bore this... _Thing_ in his voice that made his threats much more ominous. You've always felt like he had a dangerous presence.   
But that was until now, as he spoke to you with a way calmer tone. It was a stern, much more hushed tone, that held something almost lugubrious. And for the first time, there was no violence in it. No menace. But that husky, rough voice mixing with a disturbing serenity only made you notice the depraved desire behind it. How his voice lowered, and how you felt much more clearly his breath against your skin. 

 

It reeked of unwanted intimacy. The context was perverted. Faulty. Everything felt so, _so wrong_.

 

It was easy to make someone cry from pain. From fear even, if you were skilled, and sadistic enough to revel explicitly in those sensations. But bringing you to the verge of tears simply with a whisper in your ear, it was the first time something like this ever happened to you. 

 

But alas, you realized you were still powerless. The only thing left for you was to pretend you didn't feel anything. That you weren't scared, nor disturbed by all of this. In the end, you tried to focus on the peaceful sound of the rain outside, and t solve the problem, spending a few minutes on it and following Baldi's advice... Until you solved it.   
Hesitantly writing down the result and underlining it, your teacher eyed your paper, before the hand he had on you shoulder moved with a ghostly touch between your shoulder blades. 

 

"See? I told you, you were just not trying hard enough."

 

Your threw a confused glance at him, surprised to hear that his nicer facade progressively came back. There was no one here but you, why bothering? But then again, he bothered to put it on in front of an entire class which knew how much he reveled in hurting them, so it felt less confusing.   
Moreover, his voice becoming more and more gentle didn't help the slight pinch you felt in your chest at his implication that you didn't have difficulties, but that it was rather your choice and your own fault that you weren't good at math. But you didn't say anything, as your teacher simply took the paper back, gathering his things as he simply said, a kinder tone in his voice: 

 

"We'll continue this tomorrow. You're free to go now."

 

It didn't take you much more to silently get up from your chair, trying not to make your eagerness to get far away too obvious. You took your notebook and your pen back under your valid arm, keeping your injured hand close to you as always, and started to walk back towards your bag. Gathering your things and throwing your bag on your shoulder with your intact hand, you wordlessly started to walk to the door, absolutely relieved to feel like this was over now. 

 

"Oh, and one last thing!"

 

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden sound of his chair when he got up, and you abruptly turned towards him with a troubled gaze. Dread filled you back again, as a whimpering answer came from your strained throat:

 

"Y-Yes...?"

 

You really hoped it was nothing. God you hoped it was nothing, at this moment you were just begging to whoever would listen to simply let you go. The man calmly walked to you, this time his polite demeanor making him only slightly less threatening, but a lot more uncanny, until he simply stood over you and lowered enough to take a hold of your injured hand.   
In a pure reflex, you had tired to back away, keeping your hand out of reach, but you couldn't do anything in front of your teacher's long, agile limbs. He simply managed to catch your wrist in a swift, light movement. His grasp wasn't even firm, and he delicately rose your hand closer to him, eyeing the forming bruises with a strange concentration. Your hand was shaking, and apprehension washed over you again, despite his touch so gentle it seemed he was scared to shatter you. A moment passed, before he looked at you more seriously, and simply warned in his kind, and yet strained tone: 

 

"Don't go around bragging about this. We wouldn't want to get in trouble! Would we...?"

 

One of his long fingers brushed lightly on your bruised skin, the ghostly touch leaving a tingling sensation behind it before the man suddenly took the sleeve of your sweater, pulling it down to cover your hand a bit more. Then, he let go of you. 

 

'Unwanted intimacy'. Those unpleasant words rung through you mind repeatedly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for people with deeper skin color who may have read the part describing the bruises; it may not be accurate, since bruises don't appear with the same colors/clarity depending on the pigmentation of the skin. I've had MANY big bruises to be able to describe those colors more or less precisely, but I'm pale as a ghost, and I've never really focused on what bruises looked like on darker skin tones.  
> So if this description broke your immersion, I'm sorry! I'll try to keep the story as open as possible for everyone. (Gender, Physical appearance, etc...)


	9. Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My name is Lolita.  
> When I dream and see The Wolf,  
> It's me who bleeds."
> 
> -Alizee, "Me, Lolita."

You had woke up early that day.

 

Coming back from school in the heavy storm yesterday, you were soaked when you stepped home. Your parents weren't here yet, and the only thing your exhausted self had the strength to do was to take a shower. You remember as you stood under the tepid, almost fresh water, and started to phase. Everything that happened felt so distant... So foreign. You didn't really remember everything, and even the way you had aggressively tried to wash away the touch of your teacher with soap and anger felt like a dream. 

 

You didn't even remember the part where you changed to your pajamas, and simply collapsed on your bed from exhaustion. But you remember how you woke up way too early this morning. An hour and a half too early to be more precise. You had woken up from an unreal nightmare, where a wolf had bitten your hand off, and when you cried for help, it looked at you and smiled. The dream wasn't that scary per say, in its imagery. But the irrational feeling of panic you had felt during your slumber was far too real. Too familiar, even. 

 

Sitting still in your bed, the first thing you thought was that you wanted to go back to sleep. You didn't want to go to school.   
But at last, you simply sighed, before throwing your blanket away. You just had to hold on a little more, and just as you tried to focus on that, you realized a game-changing detail: You didn't have math lessons today. The only thing merely important you remembered about today was that you only had a test in P.E., and nothing more. As you stood still and realized that, your first reaction was to let out a heavy, content sigh as your shoulders slouched down and your muscles relaxed. Such a feeling, after what you've been through... It was purely blissful. 

 

Unfortunately, your bliss was short-lived. You stepped into your bathroom, switching the lights on to drown the obscurity of the dark, autumn night that lingered outside. But just as soon as your sight adjusted to the light, which felt blinding after the hours your had spent with your eyes shut, your eyes fell on your hand and a heavy feeling of sorrow washed over you.   
Your fingers had turned a deep , dark purple, and a light black stain had spread under one of your nails. Your bruises had the straight, linear form of that ruler, and your heart felt heavy when you realized you would have the bear the reminder of this blow, of your teacher's insidious ways for probably weeks. 

 

Staring at your trembling fingers, you felt how your throat became tight, almost like you were going to cry...  
Then, your gaze lifted to the mirror, where your reflection stood.   
It... Didn't look like you. Furrowing your brows, you started at yourself, only to see your reflection looking back at you angrily. Those slightly reddened eyes. Those eerily discolored lips. That tired look in your eyes. It wasn't you! You were so different before, now you didn't even feel like your reflection belonged to you anymore.   
...Of course you were hit. You looked pathetic. Who wouldn't want to beat up such a vulnerable face?  You clenched you teeth, looking angrily at that pitiful image of you. How desperate you were to just turn every mirrors around, so you wouldn't have to stare at the soul who was bleeding through your eyes. 

 

Still irrationally mad at yourself, you simply stopped looking at yourself, opening a drawer instead and rummaging through the medical kit hidden in it aggressively. Then, you found it: A roll of thick gauze.   
You didn't want people to know you were hurt, and walking around with your hand patched up felt like you were telling everyone around you about your suffering. You hated that. But at least, they wouldn't have a peak at you bruises. They wouldn't know how, or what hurt you, and at least you would feel less vulnerable than if you exhibited your wounds. And if someone asked... You would made up something. Your fingers would just have been crushed badly in a door. Nothing to worry about, of course...

 

It felt like you were talking to yourself. Desperately trying to convince yourself that everything was okay, that everything was normal.   
Getting ready at the particularly calm pace your time allowed you, you finally ended up patching your hand and starting to head away. As you had much more time than usually, being woken up early today, you decided you could just walk to school today. After all, you had to keep your energy for that P.E. exam. 

 

You day school was better today. You didn't feel any impending menace growing on you as your first hour passed, and you even managed to speak to some classmates. Generally, they all shared the trait of being nice, but a bit unsure of themselves. You could understand them though, you had been developing the same character over the days passing. Skipping from various, and yet sometimes boring lessons to break times you awaited patiently, you didn't feel as bothered today as you were the other days. Your history teacher gave you a good grade, which helped you cheering you up, and you started to study ecosystems in biology, a subject you started to find quite fascinating. School barely started to get it's comforting spark again, and it made hope flourish within you. After what you've been through, you had the courage to come back, and this day you felt like fate decided to reward you. 

 

However, even with the bright side you were trying and starting to see, you couldn't get this uncanny feeling of apprehension off your chest. You genuinely tried to enjoy that day, really. But each passing seconds made you fear a possibly inevitable change in the turn of events. You've been plagued by the expectation that your comfort would not last, and you feared that any second, something would change your day and make it turn for the worst. 

 

And how you craved to be showed wrong. To finally be convinced that everything would be okay...

 

But apparently, you were the problem. Your first discomfort was when you started to read the book your literature teacher gave you. With your class, you studied modern literature during the Cold War, and therefore had been given a peculiar book... 'Lolita', by a certain Nabokov. At first, your teacher had told, in one of his first lessons with this book, how the public was scandalized by this publication, but also how years later it was recognized as one of the first book to introduce advanced psychology to the public. You had been skeptic at first.   
You didn't know the man, nor the book... And to be honest, it just seemed weird and kind of boring. But as you started to read, your skepticism became a doubtful anticipation. 

 

You read about the first character, who was a man. A pretty... _Mature_ one, to say the least. At first, you thought this would be a plain, boring old love story, with some kind of political background message. But then, as the story progressed, you began to feel worse and worse. A weight settled in your stomach, as you learned this character was in love, and even obsessed...

 

By a young girl. A _very_   young one. 

 

You frowned, your eyes brushing past the printed words worriedly, as you read the words of the first character describing how she teased him: 

 

' _And yet, she was a child. A simple child..._ '

 

You felt your stomach churn, putting a hand on your mouth and violently shutting the book. Feeling your guts turning, you felt awful, as you asked yourself desperately why, reading those words, the furious gaze of your math teacher had flashed in your memory.   
Why... Why did you feel so close to the little girl in this book, playing with the feelings of a predator, and not old enough to know how inappropriate his feelings were. You weren't ignorant. You weren't a child. You were a student, but not a clueless child! And above all, you didn't play with fire. You understood what was done to you, but you asked none of it. 

 

...It wasn't your fault if things were happening to you. You weren't playing the same dangerous game. You didn't want that attention...

 

Even when the bell rang, it took you some instant to recompose yourself. You had to get your mind clear, as your P.E. exam would start soon. You stood up, making your way to the gymnasium with the classmates you met up on your way. You had to put yourself together, you couldn't let a simple book break you like that! It had been such a nice day today, you couldn't let that end like that! 

 

Finally arriving in front of the huge building, along with the rest of you class, you had started to talk and cheer with your classmates, up until you saw your P.E. teacher coming to unlock the gymnasium and let you in. You had your bag with you, and started to get inside along with the other students. Around you, words fused everywhere, and you could only pay attention to lost bits of sentences when you weren't talking with somebody else: 

 

"I hate running so-..."

 

"...-heard the P.E. teacher was a perv-..."

 

"...Why on earth do I have to-..."

 

"I mean, you can't get a bad grade at basket ball without wanting it. It's the kind of game everyone knows how to play-..."

 

...So you did want to have a bad grade, huh? No wonder you sucked so much in sports, knowing your lack of agility. It just... Was. You were someone clumsy. Not so much that you would fail at everything, like in math. No, you were good at some disciplines, like swimming, climbing, and even running, although you didn't like it. But with more precise sports, you weren't as good, so you just ended up aiming for acceptable results, usually succeeding in not being the worst. You were kind of an 'okay' student, and it was enough. 

 

So, knowing you would probably have your fair share of minimum points to pass your exam, you walked a bit more confidently towards the changing-room. 

 

After all, what could possibly go wrong, during such a nice day? 


	10. Deceit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to give some awards (since I didn't do that in the last chapter! ):  
> For the most frequent -and adorable- comments on this story, I wanted to thank JennaReads, Fuanasans, and FantasticBeastsTrash!  
> Your reviews and reactions fuel me to write more and more, you're all just too precious to live all the bad things I make you live with this dark story...!
> 
> I don't forget less frequent commentators, the silent majority, and the guests: all your voices, kudos and hits are just blissful to me. Thank you so much! 
> 
> And enjoy your reading...!

Getting out of the changing room, you kept your hands warm in the pockets of your soft sweatshirt. You knew you were going to sweat as you would run continuously after a ball for a whole game, but at the same time, you couldn't deny that the gymnasium was incredibly cold. Especially as autumn's cold weather was beginning to settle down, slowly letting the nature die outside. 

 

You entered the main part of the gymnasium, your steps echoing along with the ones of other students around you, as you eyed the people around you. Your teacher was waiting for the remaining student near the blackboard, waiting to explain the details of your exam.   
It took you no time to spot the three classmates you had befriended, and to sit near them, greeting them kindly before the rest of the students sat down. 

 

Unlike the rest of your teachers, your P.E. teacher was one of the youngest teachers you had, with your physics teacher, and... Well, your math teacher. Pondering about their possible age, you ended up with a light knot in your stomach, deciding it wasn't worth it to give your attention to someone like that. You didn't need to think about bad things during a day that could go on nicely.   
Once everyone was gathered, your P.E. teacher spoke, his voice loud and resonating in the vast space of the gymnasium despite seeming a bit tired: 

 

"Well, good evening everyone. I hope that day hasn't drained you. I know it's the end and you all wanna go home, but I want you to give your best during this basketball exam. We've already explained the rules, and for the teams, they're the same as last week. Basically, we'll do everything like last week, except you're going to have three more points to mark to win the match, and that we won't take any volunteers to be a referee, nor for the counting of the points. For that, I'll be referee, and I asked another teacher to come and write down the scored points, and the details about you're way of playing and respecting the rules. We'll need precision for your exam, so I'm sure you'll understand. Said teacher should come shortly before the start of the first games, so with that, I'll let you warm up like I taught you. And I don't want you to stop the warm up running before the eight minutes are up! If you skip that part, you'll hurt yourself during the stretches!"

 

The whole crowd stood up with a tired grown, as your entire class seemed the resent the idea of running during ten minutes or so. You weren't fond of running either, but choosing between that and hurting yourself during your exam just because you neglected your warm up, you preferred the first option. After all, maybe your grade will worth it?   
Starting to jog with your classmates, you tried to empty your head. Around you, people seemed curious about which teacher would join the exam to assist your P.E. teacher. It wasn't the first time a second teacher would come to assist the first. Last week, you chemistry teacher did just that with your biology teacher, to make you work on the composition of human hormones... So why not? Team-up's didn't seem so bad. 

 

Your breath started to hitch after a few minutes running in circles inside the gymnasium. Again, as you looked outside, you saw how dark clouds gathered outside. A storm was coming again; again, no surprises for the fall settling in. Maybe day-dreaming about the fresh storm coming, describing it in your head like you would describe it in a story would be relaxing? Maybe it would make you forget about the tension of the incoming exam, or about the remaining time you had to run? But soon enough, as you almost reached the position of your teacher, he suddenly called, looking at you intently: 

 

"Hey there, newbie! Come here!"

 

Hearing clearly your nickname resonating to your ears, you flashed a surprised gaze towards that man. What did he want? You ended up coming to him, slowing down to finally walk to him. An interrogative gaze settled in your eyes, but you didn't dare to ask what was wrong. Instead, your teacher just asked, throwing you a perplexed glance: 

 

"...I couldn't help but to notice that you had a bandage rolled on your hand? Are you sure you're in shape to take that exam?"

 

Brushing a loose strand from your eyes, the skin of your fingers brushing on a bit of sweat sparkling on your forehead, the question finally became clear in your tired, blurry mind, and your eyes widened in shock...

 

Shit. Yes, of course... You had gauze on your hand, of course he would think you were hurt! You tired to make up an excuse, clumsily putting up an awkward lie: 

 

"...Y-Yes, of course! I... I just stuck my fingers in a-uh.. A door. But I'm not hurt...! The gauze, it's like... Just in case...!"

 

Your teacher eyed you curiously. So curiously, in fact, that you almost felt your facade crumbling. Did he... Know about your math teacher? Just as you wondered, he asked, a bit more quietly: 

 

"...Are you sure? "

 

At that moment, you felt your heart skip a beat. A sudden rush of honesty washed over you, and you suddenly wanted to take your teacher apart. To just tell him what was going on. To tell him who hurt you. To just _beg him_ to help you before something bad happens. You almost felt tears running up to your eyes, as a strange mix of hope and despair rushed to you, making your heart race. You opened your mouth, your lip imperceptibly quivering, before something suddenly crashed inside of you. 

 

"...Good evening. I hope I'm not late?"

 

You could have recognized this deep, gentle voice behind you absolutely anywhere. You P.E. teacher lifted his head, a polite smile suddenly stretching on his face as if nothing had happened: 

 

  
"No, no, don't worry!"

 

Sparing a single, short glance behind you, you recognized the nice smile of your math teacher, who waved his hand to you with a friendly smile.   
You suddenly felt the knot in your stomach rising up in your chest. You **needed** to calm down! You didn't want to have a mental breakdown just now... Silently nodding to your teacher, you simply abstained from saying anything, going away to complete your run instead.   
Starting to run again, you waited to be far enough to turn to the couple of teachers talking. At the moment, they seemed so normal... Your P.E. teacher handed some paper sheets to Baldi, probably the sheets where he would write down scores and details. Of course, you should have thought of this earlier... No one could be as perfect as your math teacher to do such a numeral task. And yet, as predictable as it was, you felt like you weren't really prepared to have your day more ruined by that insidious presence. Turning your gaze away before he could catch you spying, you finished your jog before joining your friends to stretch. As soon as you came to your classmates, they turned to you, starting to whisper: 

 

"I knew it would be him!", exclaimed the boy, eyeing Baldi. 

 

"Ew... I hate having him staring at us... I mean, it's P.E., I don't want him to just stare at us sweating and imagining things...", remarked one of the girls, as she tried to stretch her hands to her extended legs. 

 

"Honestly, I'm just happy there's another teacher with us.", added her friend. "At least he won't do anything bad to us...!"

 

You didn't say anything. What could you say? You couldn't really get over the fact that the only day you had without a single math lesson managed to be plagued by this awful presence nonetheless. Moreover, you had trouble accepting this way of... Normalizing what he was doing, like your friends did. Maybe they weren't hit as much, or as hard as you? You didn't know... You simply couldn't understand how something that made you suffer so much could become such a common subject. The fear, the pain, the exhaustion... It couldn't become a boring banality. Could it? 

 

After some time, you all heard your teacher blowing his whistle, signaling the start of the first match, right before he called: 

 

"...Everyone on the side, except teams one and two!"

 

Every students started to sit on the side, although putting quite a distance between them and Baldi, who was standing, his papers on a board he held firmly, his other, large hand toying with a pen, which seemed almost too small for his long fingers. Upon remembering you played on the second team last week, you stayed on the court, between the members of your team as everyone settled down.   
Sometimes, you threw glances on the side, especially when the whispering of the other students suddenly came down to silence, just when your math teacher turned to them, arching an eyebrow.  For once in your life, you were glad to pass first for an exam...

 

At least you wouldn't have to sit near one of your worst nightmares for now... Wrinkling your nose at the idea of standing near that man again, unease crept up your spine. You couldn't decide what you hated the most, between the suffocating helplessness you felt when he was ready to hurt you, or the atrocious feeling of worry when you crossed the boundaries of your personal space.   
Deep down, maybe you wished to never have to decide between those feelings. 


	11. Cruento

The high-pitched, stabbing sound of a powerfully blown whistle slashed through the air around you, and you could almost feel its vibration as you P.E. teacher threw the ball high between the two teams. 

 

Naturally, knowing how bad at sports you were, you stayed in the back, 'just in case'. Doing so, you were pretty much out of the mess the other students were doing by mixing together and trying to get the ball first. Also, not being very noticeable, you knew most of your classmates wouldn't really bother giving you the ball. It was the fate of a newbie, but you couldn't really complain: no one bothered you at least.   
With that, you just ran behind your team, trying to be at least a bit concerned by what was going on, so that you wouldn't have such a pitiful grade. 

 

A couple of times, you unfortunately got in possession of the ball, and seeing the horde of classmates ready to pounce on you, you were quick to panic and pass the ball to the nearest member of your team, thus taking away from you the chance to lose some points.   
Everything was going perfectly well for now. You could even have forgotten about the deep unease that came with the presence of your math teacher, that you almost managed to rip out of your mind. Your team was even beginning to come on top, and even though you weren't a big influence, you started to believe that you could have a pretty decent grade. A consequent amount of time had passed, and you started to wonder when the countdown would end, simply waiting to hear your teacher announcing your score. 

 

Unexpectedly, the only thing you heard was a booming howl from another student, waking you from your reverie:

 

" **WATCH OUT!** "

 

You didn't even have time to see who shrieked like that. Instantly, you vision turned pitch black, and the only thing existing at that precise moment were the stabbing, heavy pain that exploded in the bridge of your nose, along with a sort of cracking sound, and the heavy scent of a rubber basket ball that accompanied it. Everything started to spin despite the absence of any sight, and you sensed a bare shock behind your head. But it was nothing compared to the pain in your nose, that seeped behind your eyes, in your entire upper jaw, and seemingly inside your brain.

 

You didn't know how much time had passed, but when you opened your eyes, you didn't know where you were. It took you a couple of bats of your eyes to suddenly recognize the ceiling of the gymnasium. Were you lying down? Slowly, you tried to get up, putting your hands down and pushing. But at the moments your muscles started to contract and lift you up, your vision shifted, black spots appearing, and a sudden wave of unpleasant warmth washed over you.   
You felt so awful. The pain was throbbing in your skull, and everything was blurry. The only thing you could process was the deep, heavy silence that fell upon the entire place, the eyes of absolutely everyone on you, and the sensation of something warm leaking from your nose. Was it snot? You began to feel embarrassed, shameful even, as your hand rose to your face to hide that disgusting sight and wipe it. 

 

As soon as you made that move, everything became messy. A wave of random whispers rose, but they felt as incomprehensible as they sounded way too loud. Agitation rose, and you suddenly realized that your P.E. teacher was rushing to your collapsed form, overwhelmed with more than a hint of panic. His voice rang painfully, as he yelled at you: 

 

"Don't touch you nose! Keep your hands down!"

 

As you had already pushed your hand beneath your nose, you frowned at the sudden, second explosion of pain, and took a glance at it.

 

It was soaked with an impressive splash of thick, sticky blood. 

 

Your eyes widened the best they could, as you realized it was blood that poured abundantly from your nose like an open faucet. Your shirt was completely ruined, a large crimson splatter expending to your navel and still growing. The sight was grotesque, and you felt yourself heave as you began to feel nauseous.   
Your P.E. teacher's voice rang much nearer to you, as he seemed more than tensed: 

 

"...We must get you to the nurse... I really hope you don't have a brok-..."

 

You didn't know if you didn't hear the rest, of if the teacher was cut short. The only thing you felt was a firm, tight hand closing around your arm before roughly jerking you up. Upon the sudden, violent movement, you thought you were going to throw up, as everything started to spin rapidly. You felt like a rag doll, almost incapable of holding your head up. As your skull hung low, your unsteady feet stumbling, the only clear thing you heard was a husky, stern voice announcing firmly: 

 

" _ **...I'm on it.**_ "

 

If not for the vice grip holding your arm, you would have probably fallen down again. But as soon as the spinning started to slow down, you were immediately jerked forward, forced to follow immense strides, almost stumbling on your own steps, only to stay up because someone held you.   
You felt your stomach turning, and for the first time, your voice barely rang in a weak, shaky breath: 

 

"...Slow...down..."

 

No one answered you. What was going on? Were you brought to the nurse? You made your best to keep up with the seemingly insane pace of the person dragging you with them. Everything was aching, and your entire skull in particular. Honestly, being shot by a bullet in the skull sounded even less painful than what you were going through, and deep inside your mind, you started to plead for someone to save you from this pain. 

 

You could have endured anything else better than that. The never-fading ache made you crazy. 

 

Even an hour with your math teacher would have been better than that, you thought.

 

...Until you lifted you head at the sudden stop of this pace. And you saw who was dragging you with him. 

 

Your eyes widened, when you saw that your math teacher had been pulling you with him to a room near the changing rooms. He searched for a key, and then put it in the keyhole of the double door, while you started to awkwardly stutter in a weak voice: 

 

"I-I...I th-think I should go... To-...To the nurse... I'll... Be fine..."

 

You didn't know if your stuttering was caused by the sudden shock you had to received, or from the sudden panic that arose. But when you took a step back, you gasped when your teacher hand brutally grasped yours, and he turned, looking deeply in your eyes with a creepily empty stare, as he simply said: 

 

" _ **No, you won't. You stay here, and you listen to me.**_ "

 

You shuddered at Baldi's cold voice... His words were not supposed to be harmful, but with this darker, deeper voice rumbling near you, the only thing you felt was threat. His hand never left your wrist, holding it firmly, and you started to feel again that infamously familiar sensation of unwanted intimacy. You didn't know if you had trouble to breath because of fear, or because of your clogged nose. But you were sure that the tremor in your hands were a result of pure terror. He unlocked the door, and his free hand pushed a switch, turning on a clear, white neon which cracked and bathed an old room with a spectral, bluish light.   
He pulled you inside, and the first thing you noticed was how small the room was...

 

It made you claustrophobic.   
On the far corner, you saw an old examination table, with metal painted white and brown cushions. The white walls almost became grey because of the decrepit, filthy paint that couldn't stand the weight of time, and the only thing barely actual in this abandoned infirmary was a small table with simple tools like scissors, white gauze, plasters, alcohol, a cooling spray...  
Your head still pounded, and you felt like you had trouble standing steady. However, despite the blurry state of your mind, you clearly thought having heard the click of a lock been turned. Sucking up a shaky breath, you backed from a couple of steps... But soon, inside that awfully small room, you felt your back colliding with the examination table, and started to panic at the idea of staying one more minute inside this cage, so close to your teacher. 

 

You felt like you were caged with a predator, and had no way out. 


	12. Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I was away from my precious computer for a few days, so I couldn't really write...!  
> But I'm back now, probably for the worst...  
> Anyway, this chapter isn't tagged NSFW, because the 'action' is kind of... Light? I supposed it would be good for people who get uncomfortable quickly to still give a warning in the notes though, as it gets more and more...Explicit, I suppose?

Your eyes fell to your feet. 

 

The only things you could feel at the moment were your pounding headache and your chest constricting in fear. What were you doing here? What did he want? You felt your ribs closing in on your already suffocating lungs, the apprehension falling on you like a sudden, heavy weight. The small room, despite giving the claustrophobic impression of being stifling, was unexpectedly cold, and soon you realized the tips of your fingers were freezing, your nails starting to turn a bit paler. Shivering silently, you suddenly jumped when you heard the abnormally deep voice of your teacher in front of you. 

 

"Sit down."

 

Your heart had punched a painful beat within your chest as you heard him. But as you processed well enough what he just said, to your surprise, you couldn't find the force to truly react. You just snapped your head up to him the best you could, despite your brain giving you the distinct sensation that it was slowly decaying, but your mouth remained ajar and the words stuck in your throat. Each time you thought of something, it turned out to feel like the worst thing you could possibly say, and not even a breath could escape your constricted throat as your heart was already beginning to race. 

 

'Let me out.'

 

'I'll go see the nurse.'

 

'Can I go to the bathroom?'

 

But nothing seemed good enough. You couldn't think of what to say, and your eyes fell on the growing exasperation of your math teacher. Time was apparently up for you to answer, and the man simply rolled his eyes like he was facing a very dumb and very frustrating child, before he made only a large step to cross to room and come closer to you. 

 

Instantly, you jumped and felt like the ground crumbled under your feet, immediately feeling your fight or flight response making you panic and your senses becoming more acute, and therefore making you also sensitive to your own pain, that you had tried to ignore for the last instants. You didn't even realize you tried to back away more, and simply shoved in the examination table behind you, letting out an anxious wince. 

 

Before you could do anything, your had the distinct sensation of not completely understanding what was going on, as something akin to two large hands slipped under your shoulders and pushed up, lifting you briefly before unceremoniously dropping you down onto the table. You frowned, looking up and trying to make things clear inside your head. Did he just... Lift you up and made you sit? Like a toddler?   
Was it a fucking joke? 

 

No. You didn't want to sit powerless in here. That was it. You were going to see the nurse. This nonsense _**had**_ to stop. 

 

Facing you, your teacher had put his hands on the table, on each side of your thighs, and... Had the most undecipherable expression you've ever seen. Was he... Smiling? It really seemed like there was a ghost of a smile on his lips as his eyes were glued to your bloodied face. He didn't move at all. Like he was observing, reminding you of a hunter. Your mouth stayed ajar and your lip quivered, as it took everything you got to even just dare to talk. The moments you had spent with this man purely conditioned you into being silent. Careful. Invisible. Almost subconsciously, you felt like being little and staying quiet could save you from the abuse.

 

But now was enough. You noticed how he briefly licked his lips when you tried to protest in a small voice, his eyes snapping from your nose to your eyes as he awoke from his strange trance state: 

 

"...Sir, I don't think-..."

 

"What did I tell you outside? Repeat it."

 

You frowned, as you didn't expect to be cut so sharply. What if this was useless? Hope was slowly seeping out of you, draining the little confidence that was barely left in you. The man in front of you slightly crooked his neck, tilting his head to the side and gauged you, like he was daring you to speak up again. The weight in the center of your chest deepened, and you couldn't close your mouth, as you had to breath through it because of your blood stuffed nose. You desperately tried to give yourself at least a tiny, minuscule bit of courage, and you spoke up again, your voice barely stronger than a whisper: 

 

"...I don't think-..."

 

" ** _Are you deaf_.** "

 

This voice. This nascent frown. It wasn't good, it couldn't be... Even the temperature in the room seemed to drop as the displease seeped through your teacher voice. Horror peaked at the realization you were stuck with him and that he was growing furious, and you suddenly felt bound to a terrible fate. At this point, you knew this wasn't even a question, and you didn't know how to react. You simply wanted to protect yourself, and desperately knew you couldn't. You weren't really ready when you heard his voice again, barely softer and just as menacing: 

 

"Repeat."

 

"...I... I can't go, and I-I must listen..."

 

Your voice didn't appear like it belonged to you anymore. More than barely a whisper, it was a mere mumble, already shaking with apprehension, and the visceral dread you felt was invading the small of this room. The melody of your tone was transparent, the consonants vibrating with something resembling the shadow of a cry. A cry for help, probably, but no one would come. It was slowly becoming hell.  
Your math teacher gave you a faint, a unexpectedly cruel smile, inhaling a deep, blood-impregnated breath, before speaking up sternly: 

 

"Good. I know it's hard to think straight, as you received a violent shock to the skull. Don't worry, I'll tend to you."

 

As he spoke, he seemed to soften a bit more. He wasn't less threatening, the uneasiness and the threat you felt never got away, but he seemed to force a benevolent softness in his voice, almost to convince you he wasn't ill-intended. You felt him start to lure you in, but the churning in your guts never stopped, it only deepened. You didn't want for him to care about you. His version of caring was a twisted, atrocious torture. He was sick and dangerous, and you could only feel better when he was far, far away. But right now, your heart felt heavy as he stood just inches away from you, his form towering over you and casting a terrifying shadow over you. 

 

Slowly, his large hands rose, but couldn't even see them. Your eyes stayed away, and you tried to ignore the world around you by staring at a corner. It was so much easier to just try to escape your body than to fear what was to come. Those long, bony finger disappeared from you vision, only for you to brutally shudder and suck in a sharp breath when you felt these softly pressing under you jaw, as your professor spoke: 

 

"Calm down, nothing's going to happen. Tilt your head and let me see your nose."

 

Despite the anguish you felt, you complied as you felt his finger press up under your jaw, urging you to arch your neck back. His voice just sounded...Serious. Still stern, but almost empty. You just really, really didn't want to make him angrier right now. He told you nothing was going to happen, but the door's lock turning still echoed in your head and filled you with dread. Your teacher's hands slid with a ghostly gentleness from under your jaw to the bottom of your cheeks, one of his thumbs resting on your chin. His eyes scanned your blood drenched face, and it seemed like he fell in this weird trance again. It could have been more comfortable to simply think he took the time to examine you. But deep down, it felt wrong to ignore how, despite how light his touch was, it was possessive and discreetly gripping your skin to never let you go. His eyes were more and more empty, and after a few seconds, you his felt his thumb start to brush softly against your skin, caressing it with an almost tender movement. 

 

It made you sick, and you started to get nauseous. The knot in your throat kept you from choking on the taste of blood and the feeling on shame. You were shameful. Something in his eyes made you embarrassed, apprehensive, and stroke you with debilitating horror. You just couldn't bare to feel this parody of a loving, benevolent gesture. 

 

The world around you was fading, and the only thing that remained was his razor sharp touch, digging in your flesh with cold lightness. Your breath quickened, and anticipation filled you. You didn't expect to feel a warm breath, a bit distantly, against the skin of your cheek. And when you felt it, your eyes closed firmly, closing in on a constant flow of tears.  
Everything was dark behind your lids.   
Unfortunately, this comforting lack of sight was compensated by heightened senses, and you finally noticed the heave in your math teacher's breath. How it shook with a hint of sadistic satisfaction. 

 

One of his hand slid up, caressing your cheekbone and letting his thumb smear the absurd amount of blood on your skin. It pressed a painful circle on your flesh, and you jumped with a painful wince. Your cries made your voice shaky and weak, as you suddenly cried in a reflex, trying to grasp his hand and push it away: 

 

"...Y-You're hurting me-..."

 

"...Shh...Don't talk...", he whispered, almost reassuringly, in contrast with his other hand abruptly grasping yours and putting it down on the table beside you, crushing it on the cushion, right beside your thigh. 

 

You had to clench your teeth to try and go through the pain of feeling his thumb pressing on the forming bruise next to your nose. You wanted to beg him to stop, it was unbearable. To feel him hurt you as you couldn't do anything, to feel him toy with you, with your blood and your nerves. 

 

However, everything became unbearable when you felt the other hand on your cheek slide to the back of your head, spindly fingers tangling in your hair like spider legs and the flat palm pressing on your skull to keep you from backing away. The warm breath gliding on the skin of your cheek became closer and hotter, and your chest felt like it was shattering over your crushing desperation. Your mouth closed, and you kept your eyes shut to convince yourself nothing was happening. 

 

You didn't immediately understand what was that thing that touched the corner of your mouth. The blood smeared on your skin made it sticky and slippery, your nerves too numb to recognize right away what a pair of lips felt like. Your chest was shaking with silent sobs, and tears mixed all too well with the fresh blood the man in front of you was tasting along with your unwillingness.

 

It was the rise of a dark descent. 


	13. Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm BACK, THIS STORY WILL CONTINUE AND THERE'S NO TURNING BACK 
> 
> PREPARE YOURSELVES, KIDS

It could have been seconds. 

  
  
Hours. 

 

Years. 

 

Centuries. 

 

And you still couldn't breath.   
His breath was hot. His lips were warm, and unmoving. But god, never in your life have a felt such an ice cold gesture. You felt the burning cold of this cruelty, and though you couldn't breath through your blood clogged nose, you didn't allow your mouth to open as you silently suffocated. Not a single second. 

 

Not for him. 

 

You were feeling dizzy now. The lack of oxygen made you light-headed, and you couldn't push yourself away, still feeling your teacher's spindly fingers tangled in your hair with a painfully tight grip. He still held your hand next to you, and your only defense left was your other hand. 

 

And so, so unfortunately, you dreaded he would bring hell upon you if you even dared to try and push him away. You faced it: What could you do with a bandaged, injured hand against this towering shadow of a man?   
For you now, nothing felt more comfortable, and yet despairing than that ignorance you tried to believe. Desperately trying to convince yourself that nothing was happening. That nothing _could_ happen to you. That if you closed your eyes hard enough, that if you stopped to breath long enough, you would wake up in your bed and all of this would just be a bad dream that you'll forget soon enough. 

 

But it wasn't. 

  
Surprisingly though, you finally felt him step back, his grip on your hair becoming less and less tight until you felt light strands pulling your sore and sensitive scalp. Finally it ended, and you immediately pushed yourself back. You suddenly opened your eyes, feeling... A lot of things. Unprepared. Apprehensive.   
Shameful.   
Sick. 

 

But overall, you expected your teacher to try and hurt you, just as you realized the way you moved was actually sharp and abrupt. Your eyes opened wide, as wide as you could, but you only perceived a blurred, burning image. A ghost of what the room actually looked like, distorted by your scalding tears. Sniffling, you realized your entire being was trembling from sheer, atrocious disbelief. You felt the memories of the past few seconds slipping away from your grasp.   
As you blinked, fat tears rolled on your cheeks, as a renewed flood of blood started to calmly drip from your nose again, tracing a new path over the older, smeared blood on your cheek. 

 

With the salted water now away from your eyes to carve your cheeks, you finally saw something different. Very unexpected in fact...

 

Your teacher had stepped back, and just as your eyes barely rose towards his face, he took another step back. His face, as usual, was perfectly unreadable. Well... _Almost_.   
He had a very cold expression up his face, one you've already seen before. His frown was barely deeper than just a straight line, and his traits, unperceptibly tensed. His eyes, on the other hand, were vivid with the colorful strokes of feelings. You couldn't decode them, but you knew for sure they weren't good. The way he had his eyes wide and static, staring at whatever he could, it reeked of frustration, of confusion. Maybe even regrets, hopefully? 

 

But you felt an heave of nausea washing over you and knotting your throat painfully when you saw the blood on his lips, that made his slight frown scarier than it should ever be. They were colored with  a deep, crimson liquid, that had a sticky look to it. 

 

Suddenly, he stopped staring, towards your knees you thought, and immediately started moving erratically, earning a panicked shudder from you. Your arms even rose in defense, as you realized with excruciating horror that you started to develop reflexes to protect yourself from pain and abuse. Almost as if the violence began to root itself within your mind on a subconscious level.   
But how your breath slipped out and your shoulders lowered when he turned away, leaving you alone for now. And though grateful, you were still wary of what he _could_ do. 

 

Your eyes followed each of Baldi's gestures, as he neared the door. His hand suddenly engulfed itself in his pocket, and he only took out a paper, and a pencil. Slamming the paper on the door, he seemed to quickly scribble something down, before he put it on the small, metal table were medical tools were lying. Then, he unlocked the door, and you couldn't help at all but feel hope bursting through your heart warmly. You were only cut in your blossoming, and yet unseen relief, by your professor's dreadfully deep voice when he only, distinctly growled: 

 

" _ **Out**_." 

 

With only that, he opened the door and went out. 

 

The mere moment he stepped out and vanished behind the door, leaving it ajar, your feelings exploded within your chest with a whole new level of violence. Your relief mixed chaotically with sadness, guilt, shame, and something strangely empty, and each feeling gave you the sensation that you were just hit in the face by brutal realization. Shivering, alone, injured, you curled up and felt your constricted throat coming undone, ready to let out a sob. Not just tears. You desperately tried to let out a silent scream, and suddenly felt like the child you were. Like the one you were supposed to be. Not crying like an adult letting it all out. No, this was a dirty cry.   
It felt too much like the violent sob of a child abandoned by his mother. The wet, shrieking sob of a man who was tortured in the shadows. It was full with non-comprehended  despair, clawing at you and shredding through the small will you tried to keep safe within. 

 

You bore too much now, it was too heavy, and you wanted nothing more than for it all to _stop_. 

 

...

 

You calmed down to emptiness. You didn't count the time that passed, letting it slip carelessly. You couldn't care less, at this point.   
You simply, carefully wiped your tears, only to stand up again on your feet. Still breathing through your mouth, you felt dizziness taking over again with the harsh knock of your feet to the ground when you stood up. But it was short-lived, you noticed, and you simply walked to the table near the door, where a note was lying. 

 

Actually, your teacher just signed you a dispense paper so you could go see the nurse and freely go home. And you had no idea what to think of this strangely reasonable action. Frowning, though the movement only made your face hurt, you simply caught the small piece of paper, crumbling it and shoving it in one of your pockets. 

 

You didn't even care about getting dressed again, despite the rain outside. You simply took your bag and your things from the changing room, and discreetly managed to run out of your gymnasium to where your bike stayed. 

 

In the cold and the frigid drops of water, no one could see your tears, as you rode your bike home faster than ever in your entire life. 

 

...You needed to rest...


	14. Something great...

You had almost no memories of your last day of school...

 

Your recollection was only limited to a few words. Little details attached to vague events: 

 

Hope. Blood. D̴̡̧̤̟̹͚͎͊͑͊͛̚ͅę̴̙̘̗̫͂̐̿̿̑̋͗c̶͔̳̬̟͓̹̐͌̊͌͛e̶̛̟̼̖̩͚̐͑̀̚i̸̥̝̗̠̮̖̲̦͉̖̿͑̓̚͡t̶̹̦̪̼̏̓͋͒͘ͅ.̛̪̣̤̱̱̥̞̰̌̈́̌̐̀.̡͖̻̪̗̳̭̈́̊̋͛͛͂̎̓͠͝.̪̺̳̖͔̪̪̈͑̈͌.

 

 

Even the night you spent home, you couldn't really remember it. Almost like it didn't exist. You couldn't remember what you ate for diner. Nor if you saw your parents... You couldn't even tell if you really cried yourself to sleep into your pillow, or if it was just all facticious memories. It was almost like your life started to revolve solely around school. Around that _awful school you couldn't bear anymore_...  
Everything in it felt unsufferable, from its grey, dirty walls to its old, outdated education...Without even mentionning the _horrible_ teachers...

 

You were starting to feel like this school was a hell you couldn't escape, slowly trapping you like a fly in a carnivorous plant.

 

You looked at your notebooks, in your locker. They weren't going to pick themselves up, you thought, but weirdly enough, you didn't really want to pick them. You just wanted to leave them there. Leave everything there, and simply walk out of the building. Like you could also leave your pain behind if you simply walked away. 

 

You shook your head... What were you thinking...?  
It was only the very begining of your day, you only had one lesson today, but you already felt so worn out...You sighed. You should have been heading to your litterature class since forever, you were already late. And the crowd waltzing around you, even if it was still pretty dense, was slowly starting to thin out. Your hand extended towards your book, the one you avoided reading because... Of its strangely sickening story, but it was suddenly interrupted. More precisely, it stopped as you jumped violently, as you felt a heavy hand abruptly crashing on your shoulder. 

 

A sudden, and strangely childish sneakering instantly told you you weren't dealing with the principal who roamed the halls sometimes, nor with a teacher.   
Slowly, you turned your head towards the shoulder grabber. Almost instantly, you felt the hand on your shoulder tightening, then giving a rough pull to turn you back.   
Your head spun, and suddenly you found yourself facing a tall boy.   
Much taller, bulkier, and kind of fatter than you, actually.

 

"Give me som-...", he started, before cutting himself off: "Oooh, snap! It's _that_ kid!"

 

What the fuck. What did he want...? Watching him silently, you frowned, unsure of what he meant. You made a step ahead, opening your mouth to protest, but as unexpected as it seemed, you felt your entire self being shoved into the locker behind you.   
Grunting in sudden pain, letting out a single, shallow breath, you suddenly realised the boy was a bully who decided to set his sights upon you. Just. The thing. You needed. 

 

"Baldi's little pet! Hah...! I'm sure you've spent some time under the desk, didn't you...?"

 

"...What?"

 

"Don't play dumb, we all know about it. Why would you spend so much time in this psycho's classroom either way...?"

 

"...Stop, I didn't-..."

 

"You didn't  _what_ , sucker?"  
  
  
You were loosing your temper. Fast. What was this retard talking about? What a pig. He couldn't know what it was like... He didn't know what true pain felt like. Nothing he was telling could be true... Right? You couldn't be used. And certainly not by a teacher. Your math teacher, he was just... Strict. Creepy. A bit weird... But you weren't, and would NEVER be his toy.   
No, you just...

 

Enough. You clenched your teeth, and your fists tightened so hard your tendons were pulling and hurting at the back of your hands. 

 

You didn't care if your knuckles broke. You didn't care if your teeth shattered under the pressure. God, you didn't even care about being punished...Worse, expelled.   
He didn't know what true pain felt like, huh? Well it was  _your turn to teach now._

 

You made a step and everything snapped. You couldn't remember anything beside burning, red hot rage coursing through your veins, the moment you let out a livid scream as you pounced on the boy in front of you. He was so much taller, and yet, though you couldn't remember the details, you recall him loosing his balance and falling on his back.   
Then, memories became more and more rare. You recall the fury that made you happy when he fell. Or how you couldn't wait to punch him in the face. Then, the sharp edge of his cheekbone digging between your knuckles when you punched him...How good it felt, bruising your hand on that bloodied pulp his face was becoming.   
You also remembered how you tried to refrain from scratching and biting him. Everything in you was becoming more and more savage. You just wanted to hurt him. At least someone would know how hurt you were. You would have someone to share your pain with. Someone to understand.   
And with what you were making him go through, he would certainly never dare to make fun of someone who's hurt again.   
  
  
Time was loosing it's consistency, but you couldn't get enough.  _There was still so much within you that needed to lash out at someone. Something. Anything..._  
  
  
...Until someone forcefully grabbed you and pulled you away from the boy you were beating. That's when you noticed a morbidly curious crowd had gathered around you. They were watching, albeit silently, without doing anything. 

 

Then, you heard this whole new voice behind you, belonging to whoever was still pulling you away: 

 

" **Your parents will hear about this...** "


	15. Learn

Your knuckles still hurt from all the beating you did. In the corner of the room, the obsessing ticking of a clock was driving you crazy. 

 

Tic. 

 

Tic.

 

Tic.

 

Tic.

 

It was so weird how silent the room was. Like another world, apart from the school. It almost felt...Soothing. It's been so long since you felt at peace somewhere. On the contrary, you felt like this school was growing on you. Like you couldn't get out. Like this school had a spirit. A dark, sticky aura that stained you like dark goo. 

It was stifling. You felt like you never could escape. Even in your home, you weren't home. Part of you still remained there. In this wacky place full of dust and bad furniture. Of people, sounds, blood and bad things. But here, it was... Somewhere else. The building was the same, but the room seemed different. Too quiet, too ominously peaceful to be part of the world that was your school. 

 

A tired, monotone voice rose up in front of you: 

 

"So... You're the new kid, right?"

 

You calmly nodded, looking down. You didn't like being here. You were supposed to be a good kid. Someone who wouldn't get in trouble. Someone who would have exemplary grades and a good behavior. Not some wild beast ready to murder a stupid boy in the hallways...  
You weren't proud of you, and you knew how unpleasant it would be to have the Principal of the Thing rubbing your shameful behavior in your face. That's exactly what he did, but surprisingly, his words lost their weight with the laziness in his voice: 

 

"...What's up with you, beating people around the halls... **You should know better**."

 

"I..."

 

You paused. There was a moment of silence, almost like the Principal was waiting for what you had to say. 

 

"I'm sorry... I-I can explain..."

 

But in fact, you couldn't. The Principal was watching you from behind his desk, seated and still, while you were standing up in front of him. Your eyes rose up a bit, and you ever so discreetly gasped. You still weren't used to his appearance. Everything in him was desperately normal. His messy, brown hair, his old dark sweater filled with pilling, his plain dark jeans. Even his shoes, plain sneakers that reminded you of an adult that didn't really want to grow up. But the moment you saw him, you remembered the cheer dread you felt when, in the middle of this alabaster, pale skin, you saw a pair of pitch black, empty eyes. They were void of any feeling, to the point that the principal almost couldn't look human. He looked more like a decaying image of what he was before... You could almost see a dark, thick substance dropping of this disturbing gaze, that seemed painted with fresh, black paint. 

You tried to go on: 

 

"I.... I just..."

 

"You just _what_...? Broke the nose of another student?"

 

You closed your mouth. Anxiety was building up rapidly within your chest. What could you do? Why did you do that...? What has gotten into you... You needed help. You couldn't do it anymore, it was too hard. You felt like you were bearing too much on your shoulders alone. Deep down, a little voice was whispering to you. He could help... He was from the staff. He knew the school. And moreover, he knew your math teacher. Maybe you weren't so alone...

Tell him. 

Whisper to him. Apologize for what you did. Tell him what you feel. Confess your secrets and show him the ghost of your scars...

 

But would he truly understand? The air was thicker, and you felt like you couldn't breath properly. What if you were wrong, and you ended up in more troubles? What would your parents say? What if you lost more friends, ending up alone and isolated from everyone?   
What if _he_ knew...? You felt a knot in your throat, almost as if you were about to cry.

 

...But it wasn't enough to lose. And you felt tired. So, _so_ tired. You had to try. At least once. Just to see...  
Your voice cracked up a little when you started talking: 

 

"No, I... I said that I was sorry... I really am...I don't know what's going on lately..."

 

At the end of your sentence, your throat and chest tightened, and you felt your eyes hurting. Oh god, no. You weren't breaking down during this. You wouldn't let that happen. You let your voice shake and go down though, as you continued: 

 

"I... need to tell you something, I need your help..."

 

At your words, the Principal frowned. He didn't seem to understand at first, but he stayed silent as you continued. 

 

"There is... Something wrong. Going on here. I... I don't know who can help me, and I'm...Scared...  
I have this teacher, a math teacher... Mr. Baldimore. And... He's... Doing things. Things that teachers shouldn't do..."

 

That's it. You were ashamed as you felt tears rolling down your cheeks. Oh, how embarrassing... But the moment the name of your tormentor painfully rolled out of your mouth, you felt like you had all the attention you could gather in this silent little room. It was hard, remembering... It felt like talking about it was bringing you at the core of each and every memories where you were hurt. 

 

"He... Has certain tendencies... He-He hurt us. He hits us... Hard. And lately I think it... Really affected me. I've never been here before, and I don't feel good in his classes..."

 

You talked. You talked, and yet, you didn't have the heart to talk about what happened in the P.E. class. 

 

"Sir. Please, help me..."

 

There was a moment of silence. It lasted maybe an instant, but time was stretching, and it felt like  with each second passing, seconds began to last longer and longer... Until the scrapping sound of a chair broke everything. The Principal just stood up, and circled quietly his desk, focused. 

 

In a gesture of learned instinct, you backed off, wary of every movement. The principal got closer, and something familiar settled in your chest: Anxiety, born from survival. The fear that made you raw and ready to run. 

It hit you. He was just like him. Would he even help you... You felt cornered, even when you desperately tried to convince yourself nothing was going to happen. You lowered your head, tightened your fists and clenched your teeth, bracing yourself and simply convincing yourself that everything was going to end fast. Oh god, you hoped nothing was going to happen...  
How could that be a thing... That predatory aura, the presence that sent chills down your spine. You couldn't know if you were in any danger with this man, but it sure felt like it. Deep down, you really hoped this feeling came from your distorted perception of things... From your fear alone, and from nothing too real. 

The Principal stopped in front of you. Slowly, it wasn't even abrupt. Then, he softly bent towards you. Like he was going to tell you a secret. His head was barely above yours, as he whispered in a soft, tingly breath: 

 

"...Then you know how the kid you beat up felt like. Hope it serves you as a lesson."

 

Your eyes widened... 

 

He stood up again, and returned to his desk while casually concluding: 

 

" **Detention for you**.  **Your parents will hear about this one**..."

 

...And you never felt so alone. 


	16. The Hiatus

Before I continue hiding in silence, I think you guys need a little word to know why I sorta disappeared for so long... So here we go! 

 

First off, I'm sorry for those who fervently followed the story, since at its beginning, I used to write pretty fast and easily. 

 

The first reason for my hiatus was my school. Last year, after ending high school, I used to work and earn some money, to be able to go to an animation school. And as I worked at night, I had pretty much all my days off to draw and search for schools, passing exams and interviews, etc...  
In that context, I had a lot of free time, and writing was a hobby I could practice almost as much as drawing, and I even had time to read a lot too, especially on AO3. 

And then, I got accepted to a fairly good school. But the thing with good schools here, it's that before I could get really integrated in the school, I had to work there during a year zero, that was destined to give us enough skills (Drawing, sculpting, video editing, writing, etc...) to continue and graduate to first year. But It was also designed to be hard enough to thin out the quantity of student and fire the ones which didn't do good enough. 

And let me tell you, they went NUTS with us. Most of us were beginners, and they went ahead and tried to kill us with 2nd and 3rd year level work. It was really hard, and many didn't make it. 

Fortunately, I did! 

But the price for it was a stupid amount of work from me. I learned a lot by myself, and sacrificed a lot of sleepless nights and personal projects just to do enough work and not be fired at the end of the year. 

Another thing I sacrificed to was the time I took to read, write, and generally work of personal projects. BUT! That doesn't mean I give up on writing. Both this story and another one on my account were on a hiatus for a long time, but it's not dead until I say so, and I will come back to them as soon as I can. So brace for my awful writing schedule, and please forgive me for the excruciatingly long time I take to write. 

Another thing is that I started to work on my anxiety and PTSD problems. And writing was, for me, a way to put words on what I might or might not feel, and I feel it gave depth and veracity to what I wrote. But I don't think it was a really good way to handle things. And though I feel like I will continue to write with the same attention and the same raw feel I had for years, sometimes I feel scared to come back to it. Either it's because I don't really want to feel things the same way again, or because I'm scared that getting better makes me write less deep things, I have absolutely no idea. 

But I think it's not important. I'll come back nonetheless, because these stories mean a lot to me, and in the end, I know they can make people happy. Or make them escape, feel better, or less alone. And that's priceless. 

So, until then, I'll do my best to write. See ya!


End file.
